


Just an Ordinary Love Story (that's what we are)

by amfiguree



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Escort Service, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amfiguree/pseuds/amfiguree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanted: an escort. Infectious laughter and a wry sense of humor required. Whiskey-smooth voice a plus. Emotional baggage optional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the film "The Wedding Date" and inspired by belyste's [Something Borrowed, Something Blue](http://belyste.livejournal.com/19534.html).

David's really happy for Jazzy. She's a little young, maybe, and okay, it might be a _little_ weird that she's going to be married before he is, but still. David's really, really happy for her. "Unless, uh," he says, when she calls personally to invite him to the wedding (it makes David feel bad because obviously she needs to actually hear him say yes, yes he's coming, to believe it; he's almost had to cancel on them twice already), "He's not - I mean, you _are_ happy, right?"  
  
"Davey," she laughs. "Yes, _duh_. I've only been with Jeff for, like, ever."  
  
"Oh, good," David nods. Because, well, because if she wasn't, he'd possibly have to hit Jeff, or - or, like, have words with him, or some other over-protective big brother-y routine stuff, and--and David's just really glad he isn't going to have to. "Good," he repeats. "I'm really happy for you, Jazz."  
  
"Thanks, Davey," she says, so warm and genuine that for a second David would give _anything_ to be back home in Salt Lake with them. Gosh, the planning must be _crazy_. Then Jazz adds, "oh, and, uh, AuntEm'sgonnabehere, okaygreatloveyoubye!" and hangs up before David can protest.  
  
He spends the next couple of minutes squawking indignantly at the dial tone, anyway.  
  
  
  
It doesn't take as long as it should for David to decide on what to do after that. The thing is, Aunt Em still terrifies him. Every time he's seen her in the past two years she's pinched his cheeks and hugged him so tight his ribs still creak in protest. "How is my widdle Archiekins?" she'll coo. "I don't understand why you don't have a girlfriend yet. What do girls these days _expect_? Don't you worry, my darling, we'll find you someone you like, yes we will."   
  
And, well, okay, he doesn't _like_ it, but that, David can deal with - his friends at school ask him the same question all the time - only then Aunt Em starts dragging him _everywhere_ with her, introducing him to every girl at every table, even the ones he doesn't recognize.  
  
"This is my nephew, David," she likes to say, as she ruffles his hair and beams. "Isn't he adorable? He's got a full scholarship at that fancy singing university, and he's going to be famous, you know. He's got a real talent, this boy. Davey, why don't you show these nice girls what you can do?"  
  
It always makes David want to hide under a table till everyone leaves. He still remembers the time with that lady who'd tried to put her hand, like, up his _thigh_ during the chorus of I Will Always Love You, oh my gosh. Just the thought makes David's skin prickle uncomfortably.  
  
And no one will help him because apparently his parents think that letting Aunt Em _matchmake_ him with girls he doesn't even know is a good idea. And Daniel's just worried that Aunt Em will start on him, too, which is a totally valid concern, probably, but it doesn't improve David's chances at all.  
  
Which is why, half an hour later, David's locked the door to his dorm room, and sat himself down at his desk with his roommate's phone book spread out in front of him, dialing the number of one of the ads circled in thick, red marker. He only flails a little bit when someone picks up on the other end.  
  
"Hello," he says, eventually. He even manages to steady his voice when he adds, "Um, there's this wedding I have to go for, and I'm - I think I'm maybe going to need an, uh, an escort."   
  
  
  
Technology is actually pretty awesome, David thinks. He's only just gotten off the phone with the agency and already he's gotten a soft copy of the legal stuff he has to sign in his inbox. There's another document attached, which is full of all kinds of weird questions like, _which movie star would you like to date?_ and _what would you do if you were stranded on a desert island?_ and _do you have any allergies?_ , to which David answers _um, I don't know, that's kind of weird, isn't it?_ and _I guess I'd try to build a tent? Although I hope there are fruits on the island because I don't really swim_ and _metal bracelets_ , respectively. It's a long story.   
  
Anyway, there's also this whole clause talking about how he is totally not allowed to pay his escort to, um, do other stuff. Besides escort him.  
  
"Oh my gosh," David says, relieved, because he hadn't even thought about that, and wow, what if he'd been expected to -- well, _that_ would have been awkward.  
  
He's just about done filling up the forms when there's a sharp series of knocks on the door. "Yo, Dave. What are you doing in there?"  
  
David's fingers skitter across the keyboard. "Uh," he calls back, as he shoves the phone directory under his roommate's bed. "Just - just a second!" It takes two tries for him to manage to hit the 'send' button, and he almost trips over his chair in his haste to get to the door. Jason's standing on the other side, eyebrow quirked, and David waves a hand nervously, very narrowly missing flicking one of Jason's dreads. "I, um. I had to--"  
  
"Yeeeeah," Jason says, and shoots David an amused little grin as he comes into the room. "Whatever, man. As long as you stayed on your side of the room."  
  
David flushes. It's really hard to misunderstand what Jason means. "Oh, but," he protests, weakly. "I wasn't--"  
  
"Sure, man," Jason replies easily, and claps a hand over David's shoulder. "Oh, hey, you haven't seen my stash anywhere, have you?"  
  
  
  
It feels like forever till the weekend before spring break finally arrives, and David's so jittery (re: scared) about finally meeting his escort - the agency sent him a letter of confirmation about a week ago - that he kind of, sort of insists Jason leaves for the airport early, because if his roommate ever finds out that he's hired an escort... oh, gosh.  
  
David spends the rest of the afternoon trying to work on the song he's been stuck on for the past seventy hundred weeks, and not, like, surreptitiously checking the clock every five minutes or anything, and - and he actually really gets into it. He even manages to compose another couple of bars instead of just tweaking what he's already gotten down, but by five o'clock it seems kind of pointless to keep pretending that he's going to get any real writing done.   
  
Pacing the room is much more productive, so he does that instead.  
  
But David isn't sure what he's expecting, as he wrings his hands nervously and watches the clock counting down the minutes till there's a knock on his door. "Oh," he says, when it finally comes and he goes to answer it. Because David may not have had any idea what to expect, but David Cook is quite possibly the furthest thing from it.


	2. Chapter 2

There's a beat of silence after Cook introduces himself, mainly because David's kind of - David's just staring. Then Cook tilts his head, as if to say _yeeeeeeeah, awkward_ , and David blinks and shakes himself enough to add, "Um."  
  
"It's okay, you know," Cook tells him, with an easy grin. "You can still get your money back."  
  
" _Oh_ ," David repeats belatedly. "Oh, no, I wasn't--" except he _totally_ was, and his face heats up. Which is when his brain points out that Cook's still standing in the hallway. David steps back hurriedly, and waves Cook in. "Just," he says, as he shuts the door behind them, gesturing a little wildly, "Just - you're, you know."  
  
"Tall?" Cook ventures, as he turns to look at David. There's still the slightest tug of a smile at his lips.  
  
"Uh--"  
  
"Charming?"  
  
"I'm--"  
  
"Excessively handsome?"  
  
"A guy," David blurts out, without quite meaning to. "You're a guy, and I didn't - when they said Cook, D., I thought you'd be a, a, a Dolly or a - a Dinah, or--"  
  
"Wait," Cook interrupts, and there's a second where David has no clue what he's going to say. "You'd be okay with dating a Dinah Cook?"   
  
"Oh my gosh," David says.  
  
Cook cracks up, and David sort of - for a second, he thinks about just calling up the agency and telling them that it's all a big mistake, and Cook is - Cook's really nice, but he's - he's not really what David's looking for. Then David realizes that the flight to Salt Lake is in, like, a day, and there's no way he's going to get a replacement in time for that, which, okay, he should totally have thought about before, only he didn't, and he kind of raises his hands and flounders a little bit. "Oh, no," he says, miserably. "Even if I _could_ return you--"  
  
That just sets Cook off again, and David backpedals. "Oh, wait, no," he says, a little desperately. "I mean, it's not, you're - you seem really nice, especially for an escort--"  
  
Cook just starts laughing even harder, and David stands there, looking at him helplessly. Apparently, that's funny, too, because Cook has to put a hand over his eyes till his shoulders stop shaking and he can speak without his breath hitching again.   
  
"Look, David," Cook says eventually, as he pulls out David's request form from his back pocket - and oh, _gosh_ , David realizes belatedly, he must have _read_ it - and holds it out to him, before tapping his finger against the tail end of it. "I'm sorry but technically, I don't think they'd let you return me anyway," here, Cook's mouth starts twitching again. "Not if it's because I'm not a Dinah Cook."  
  
 _Gender:_ , the contract reads. _Check one. Female. Male. Both._  
  
David closes his eyes in horror.   
  
He'd been filling out the form, and then Jason had knocked, and - and then...  
  
It's not even that it's not true, the - the part about him liking girls _and_ boys. It is. Even his parents know. David came out to them years ago, when one of his older co-competitors on Star Search had pushed him into a closet - and David hadn't understood the metaphor in that till, like, two months ago - and stolen his first kiss. Instinct had David opening his mouth to protest _but you have to ask first--_ , except Justin had kind of - kind of put his hand on David's shoulder and tilted his head and leaned in some more and --  
  
And David hadn't really had the heart to protest after that.  
  
So that's - that's not even the problem, really. It's just - the thing is, his parents probably think it was just, like, some kind of phase or something, and David hasn't exactly brought anyone home before this - he hasn't even had a _girlfriend_ yet - so this is going to mean a lot of confusion and _questions_ , which is what David was trying to avoid in the first place.  
  
"Um," he says glumly, ducking his head, because there really isn't anything he can _do_ about it now, is there? "I'm really - I'm not, like, a - a slut. Or anything."  
  
Cook raises an eyebrow at that, but his lips are curling up again, just a hint. "Well," he says. "That makes one of us."   
  
David takes a couple of seconds to register that. But then he does, and his head flies up. "But," he says, flailing a little as he starts panicking again, for the third time in as many minutes, probably. Oh my _gosh_ , this is not good, this is, he can't have hired a - a _prostitute_ , because --oh, oh no, how is he supposed to go to _confession_ with something like this? "But I talked to - you're not supposed to - to, it was in the legal... _thing_ that I had to sign and everything! And on the phone, they said..."  
  
"Yeeeeeah," Cook drawls, still looking faintly amused. "It would be pretty illegal for them to be saying anything else."  
  
"It's pretty illegal for you to be saying anything else!" David objects.  
  
Cook's put his face in his hands again, but David can hear his muffled laughter past the cracks between his fingers. "Look," Cook says, when he's finally straightened and wiped his eyes, "Don't - we got off on the wrong foot here. You're a client - don't look at me like that! You're a client, and at the agency, we're all professionals." Cook swipes at the imaginary lint on his shirt, then plasters on a smile and holds out his hand. "Let's try this again. Hi David. I'm David Cook, your wedding escort. Just so we're clear, I'm not a pedophile--"  
  
"I turned 20 three months ago!" David interrupts.  
  
"Which just proves my point," Cook goes on, doggedly. "I'm just a regular perv like anyone else, so you have nothing to be worried about. I'm not going to force myself on you or anything." Cook pauses, then, but only to grin and waggle his eyebrows. "Unless you're into that kind of thing."   
  
"Uh," David blinks.  
  
Cook's smile softens, just a little, and David gets this sort of warm feeling in his chest, like the time he'd gone out on his first--wait, _no_. He ducks his head. "Seriously," Cook says. "I'm told I'm pretty good company. And I've been known to turn a few heads, too."  
  
"Well, yeah, duh," David says, absently, still working out how to break this to his parents. "That's clearly not, like, an issue for you."  
  
Cook starts out and out laughing again. "Are you checking me out, Dave?"  
  
David's eyes nearly bug out of his head. "No!" he protests. "Just, at the door, there was a lot of time to - I mean, _no_!"  
  
Cook grins. "Damn," he says. "I'm gonna have to work on that."   
  
"Oh, no, don't--" David says. He's completely out of his element. "I mean, you have really pretty eyes. And, um, your hair? Your hair is really nice. And - and your hands. You have really big hands. And feet!"   
  
"Uh," Cook says, uncertainly. The corner of his mouth is starting to twitch again. "Okay?"  
  
"Oh my gosh," David says, awkwardly. After being roommates with Jason for so long, it's not like he can pretend he doesn't know what Cook's thinking. "I didn't mean it like that. Please don't - please stop letting me say stuff like that."   
  
Cook stops cackling long enough to clap David firmly on the back. "Putting that on top of my to-do list, man. But first thing's first. I'm gonna need a suit for this, right?"  
  
"Um," David frowns. "I guess? What else do you wear at weddings?"  
  
"Jeans and a nice shirt?" Cook offers. David looks at him, and Cook shakes his head in resignation. "Yeah, didn't think so. We're gonna need to go suit shopping before we leave."  
  
"Oh, but--" David says. He used most - okay, _all_ of the money he's saved over the past year doing little performances at school events just to _hire_ Cook. He doesn't - he hadn't thought to include the cost of a new suit. And it's going to have to be a good suit, which is so, so far out of his price range, except Jazzy will kill him if he settles for anything less, so--   
  
"On my dollar," Cook says, interrupting David before he can actually begin panicking. "I would've packed a couple for you to choose from, but I threw all of mine in a bonfire last fall," he explains.  
  
"Oh," David says. It's kind of a strange joke, and it's not really funny, but Cook's just looking at him steadily, and he rushes to tack on an, "um, ha ha?"  
  
"Yeah," Cook says, as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets. "I wish I was kidding, too."  
  
  
  
It's not all bad, though, having to go tuxedo-shopping with Cook. The first couple of minutes are a little awkward, but Cook seems to get that that's just David's default mode of operation, because he just steamrolls through it, talking about the weather, and the dermatologist who offered him a free facial on his walk over to David's place (which David still doesn't know if he's making up), and the fact that people should never turn books into movies "because they always ruin it, man. Have you ever seen The Fountainhead?"  
  
"Yeah, but haven't you seen the Lord of the Rings?" David asks, in response to that.   
  
"You raise a valid point," Cook replies gravely.  
  
"No," David says. "I raise three."   
  
David starts to warm up a little after that, and they get to have an actual conversation. Well, okay, mostly Cook talks, and David just tries not to trip over while he laughs because Cook tells the craziest stories. Cook has to reach out to steady him _twice_. By the time they reach the store, David's cheeks are flushed and his stomach hurts.  
  
The lady behind the counter sees Cook first when she looks up, and she gets this look on her face that makes David a little worried she's going to maybe swoon. Then she sees David, too, and she stops midway of batting her eyelashes to give them this _other_ look instead, this kind of 'awww' look. Okay, so it isn't anything new, really, except the only people David's used to getting that look from are old cat ladies and, like, his sixty-four aunts on his mom's side of the family that he doesn't actually remember from anywhere but Christmas dinners, so he's a little creeped out. She can't be older than twenty-five.   
  
"Hi," she says, cheerfully. "I'm Lisa. Can I get you anything?"  
  
"Hey Lisa," Cook says. "I need a suit for a wedding."  
  
Lisa looks at Cook for a moment, then at David, clearly struggling for words. "Just you?" she asks eventually, before aiming a quick, if somewhat surprised, smile at David.  
  
"Just me," Cook nods.  
  
"Um," David says, when he realizes Lisa's still looking at him. "My mom made me pick mine out when she mailed the invitations?"   
  
"Great," Lisa says, brightly. "Should I be looking for a matching suit? Or...?"  
  
There's a silence when Lisa trails off, and Cook turns to look expectantly at David. "Oh," David says. "Right, yes. Um. It's a - it's just your basic black suit, I guess?"   
  
"All right, then!" Lisa says. "I'll see what I can do."  
  
  
  
Lisa's really awesome at her job, David decides, fifteen minutes later. She already has about twenty different suits lined up for Cook to try on, and, okay, what does it matter if they all look exactly the same to David? He's not the professional. Only - only Lisa's standing in the waiting area with him, shooting him these patient little smiles and David feels maybe ten times more awkward without Cook acting as a buffer.   
  
So he is a little relieved when, from behind the changing room door, he hears Cook say, "You know, I think this is it."  
  
Lisa's frowning, though. "Are you sure?" she asks. "I thought the sleeves might be a little too long."  
  
"No, it fits great," Cook says. There's a short scuffle with the lock, and then the door swings open, and Cook steps out with a melodramatic little flourish. "Tada."  
  
Over from her corner of the room, Lisa breathes a quiet, "Wow."  
  
David blinks. It's a simple suit, black on gray, elegant but not-quite formal. It's perfect.   
  
"So." Cook does an exaggerated pirouette. "Am I presentable enough for you?"  
  
That makes David's stomach do a little flip - okay, so it's more like a somersault than a flip, really - and David has to remind himself that Cook's a - a -- that this is what Cook's _supposed_ to do, and - and that's the reason he can't stop staring. "Um," he says finally, weakly.  
  
Even then, he can see Cook itching to crack up. "I'm gonna take that as a yes."  
  
There's a pregnant pause, and Lisa clears her throat politely. "I'll go ring up the register," she says. On her way out, she stops to give David another smile. "Congratulations," she murmurs with a little giggle, looking for all the world like she's about to pinch his cheeks. "He's insanely hot."  
  
"Oh," David replies, after she leaves - and, wow, his brain isn't working at _all_.   
  
"Yeah," Cook says smugly, reaching out to ruffle David's hair before he goes back into the changing room. "I know."  
  
  
  
David's stomach is still doing that funny cartwheel thing when Cook comes out of the dressing room a little while later. He can't make himself look at Cook as they head back out to the store front, or at the price tag, which, judging from the grin on Lisa's face, is probably a good thing. "Thank you," she chirps, and gives David a discreet wink on their way out.  
  
"So I was thinking of maybe getting some dinner," Cook says conversationally, just as David blurts, "Um, so I'll see you at the airport?"  
  
And then of course David has to try to take it back, because it's not like he _doesn't_ want to spend time with Cook, although - although, okay, it's probably not such a good idea right now. But Cook just gets this odd, half-smile on his face and rolls his eyes as he waves David off. "It's okay, man, I should probably start packing anyway."  
  
David pauses midway of his protest. "Oh my gosh, _Cook_. You haven't _packed_?"  
  
Cook's already taken off, jogging backwards down the street as he raises a hand in a small wave. "See you tomorrow, Dave."   
  
  
  
It turns out that spending that much time on his own isn't such a good idea after all. All David can think about the rest of the night is everything that could go wrong on the trip - he's going to get yelled at, his parents are going to freak out, Jazzy's going to decide she really wants to get married to Cook instead, or, worst of all, Cook isn't going to show up at the airport. He falls asleep at, like, three in the morning, and when he wakes up, although he doesn't really remember his dream, there's a _puddle_ of drool on his pillow and - and a problem he has to take care of in the bathroom, really quickly and really quietly, before he manages to drag himself out of his dorm and into a cab.  
  
As if the day isn't bad enough, the traffic is so crazy that David finally gets off the cab, like, ten blocks away from the airport and walks the rest of the way, luggage in tow. He spends the entire time freaking out some more, half-running in case he misses the plane, worrying about what he's going to do if Cook doesn't show, and what he's going to do if he _does_. He can't decide which is worse.  
  
Cook's already waiting for him when he gets there, and the smile slips right off his face once he sees David. "Sorry," David says miserably, breathing hard. "The traffic was really bad, and when I woke up this morning I realized I forgot to pack some of my books from school, and then there wasn't any more space in my luggage so I had to redo it all."  
  
"Hey--"  
  
"And then I got this message from my parents on my voicemail and they're so excited that I'm coming home, and they don't even know I'm bringing you with me--"  
  
"David--"  
  
"And I don't even know what I'm going to tell them, and if they get mad and I ruin the wedding, Jazzy is never going to forgive me, ever, and they're going to have to do the wedding over and--"  
  
"Shut up," Cook says.  
  
"--I can't, wait, what?" David objects, or tries to, but Cook's already tugged his bags away from him and set them on the ground. "Cook--"  
  
Cook just looks at him for a long, hard moment, and David feels his mouth snap shut. Then Cook's reaching for him without warning, grabbing him into a tight hug. David flails a little, trying to squirm away, but Cook just holds on till he gives up and David lets him, at least until his heart stops trying to stumble its way out of his chest.  
  
"Okay?" Cook asks, after a second.  
  
David nods and lets out an awkward breath against Cook's shirt. It's - he smells really good, a nice mixture of cinnamon and spice.  
  
"Okay," Cook repeats, and when he lets David go, he's smiling again. "C'mon. I have a plane to catch and a wedding to crash."


	3. Chapter 3

David's stomach is doing cartwheels long after the plane takes off, and it has nothing to do with his fear of heights, or, like, the documentary on plane crashes they had to watch during one of their lectures last week (although that's definitely not helping anything). It's just - he can't stop thinking about what his parents are going to _say_ once they see... once they realize--  
  
And it's not that Cook isn't awesome - because he totally is - but David hasn't exactly done this before, this whole bringing someone home thing. And it's a _fake_ someone too, so. So he's a little nervous.   
  
He startles when he feels a hand on his arm. When he turns around, Cook's face is, like, two inches away from his, and he's leaning over the armrest a little, eyebrow raised. "Nervous flyer?" Cook murmurs, without taking his hand away.  
  
And it's really kind of, um, warm, wow, maybe warmer than when Cook grabbed him in the airport and, um. "I, no," David says belatedly, on a long rush of breath, when Cook clears his throat. "No, just - you know. Weddings."  
  
"Ah," Cook says, knowingly. "So you're not a fan of the whole walking down the aisle thing, huh?"  
  
"What?" David says. Cook's hand is really, really warm. And kind of a little distracting. "Oh. Oh no, I mean, no, I think weddings are great. Kind of, I haven't been to that many, and this is, like, the first one in the family, so that's going to be pretty weird, maybe, I don't know. Also, um, you're kind of the first fake boyfriend I've ever taken home, so."   
  
Cook's mouth is doing that thing again, the thing where it doesn't really know which way it wants to go. "Yeah," he says finally, as he settles back in his seat. "Trust me, I pretty much got the memo on that." He shoots David another look out of the corner of his eye. "So this is the first wedding in the family, huh?"  
  
"Oh," David says. "Yeah. She's - they all thought -- since Claudia's the oldest, they figured, you know, but Jeff is really nice and Jazzy's kind of been with him since, like, second grade anyway, so it feels like they've been talking about this forever."  
  
Cook lets out a low whistle. "Second grade love, that'll do it," he says, as he nudges David's side. "How many sisters are you planning to see married off?"  
  
"Three," David says. "Um, or, I mean, Claudia might soon. She really likes Mark, but I don't think - she wants to be a nurse, so she's probably going to be away in grad school for a while and I guess they're going to try to do the whole long distance thing, so she doesn't think planning anything makes sense yet. "  
  
As it turns out, Cook thinks that waiting makes perfect sense, although he's surprised that David doesn't want to be at home to check in on the boys and make sure they're the perfect marriage candidates they're making themselves out to be. David ends up having to explain that oh, it really isn't like that at all, and he would never have left Salt Lake if he'd been able to help it. Except he's always wanted to be a singer, and the vocal paralysis thing kind of put a stopper in that, so studying and writing music just seemed like the next best thing, and when _Juilliard_ said yes, it didn't make sense to _not_ go. His parents are still worried about him being so far away from home on his own, and Daniel and Amber email him all the time with, like, vegetable juice recipes from his mom and stuff, and he really misses them, but it's not so bad now. And yeah, he was kind of bummed about the singing thing for a while, but he's getting better - he's sure he's getting better - and eventually he'll go back to it, but for now life is pretty awesome.  
  
Which, wow, David's sort of rambling already, but the thing is, Cook is really, really easy to talk to, and once David gets warmed up, it's kind of hard to stop. They talk about his mom and dad some more, because they're the best parents anyone could ever ask for, and they're totally supportive of everything David's ever wanted to do. And then they talk about David's pets, and then they even talk about school, and how much David's learned, and _what_ he's learning, and how great Jason is as a roommate, even though he smokes up all the time - "or maybe because of that," Cook smirks, and David laughs.   
  
Cook seems to take that as his cue to start telling, like, the worst jokes David has ever heard in his life, one after another, and it's only after the really awful one about the octopus and the sushi that David puts his hand over Cook's mouth and wheezes, "oh my gosh, _stop_ ," because he can't even breathe, he's laughing so hard. "How do you - that was _terrible_."  
  
"Thank you," Cook says, muffled behind David's hand, and suddenly David's neck is really, really warm. Cook's grinning smugly when David yanks his hand away. Dang it, Cook's humor is totally throwing him off balance.   
  
David looks down at his lap, searching for words. "That might have been, like, marginally worse than the joke about burning your suits," he settles for, finally.  
  
Cook stiffens immediately, a reflex reaction, and David blinks. It's like going to bed one night in the fall and waking up to fresh snow.   
  
" _Oh_ ," David blurts out, then, with a sort of sudden, _inspired_ clarity. "You weren't joking."  
  
Cook's expression closes off. His mouth is pulled in a tight, thin line, and his shoulders are drawn.   
  
Like icing on the cake, David adds, "Why did you burn your suits?" before he can stop himself.  
  
Cook doesn't reply to that either, just turns, woodenly, to look at the other passengers on board.   
  
A long, awkward silence follows. Cook doesn't try to break it. David makes a couple of aborted attempts himself, but then he sighs and looks sheepishly down at his hands, preparing to spend the rest of the flight the same way. Dang it, he's always saying stuff like that. Daniel always said it was bound to get him in trouble one day, and now--  
  
He's still sort of berating himself when he starts to doze off, a while later, but then Cook shifts against him, and he jerks back awake.  
  
For a second he thinks Cook is going to, like, _leave_ , except - well, okay, he can't, since they're on a plane and stuff, but still. Maybe he wants to switch seats or something. "What - Cook," David starts to say.  
  
All Cook does is raise his hand and reach for the call button above their seats. A little light goes off, and before David can protest, a fight attendant pretty much materializes out of nowhere, beaming at them both. "How can I help you, sir?" she chirps.   
  
David blinks when Cook puts a hand on his arm. "I know this is against policy," he murmurs, "But I was wondering if you could do us a little favor." He aims a sort of fond, sideways grin at David, before adding, "We're celebrating, and we thought it'd be nice to round it up with a glass of champagne."  
  
David's eyes widen. "Um."  
  
"I'm sorry, sir?" the stewardess says. She opens her mouth, takes another look at David, and then tries again. "That sounds lovely. What are you celebrating?"  
  
"Well," Cook says, grinning some more, and then his hand slips into David's. His fingers are so warm that the cool metal of his ring makes David's skin sort of--"We're going for a wedding."  
  
"Um," David says, helpfully.  
  
"His family's hosting," Cook supplies. "It's going to be this big event, and we were just hoping to start things off a little more privately."  
  
"Well, congratulations," the stewardess says, smiling at them both now, wider and genuine. It's the same look as the one Lisa gave them yesterday. She gently pats Cook's shoulder. "Let me see what I can do about that champagne."  
  
"I'm underage!" David protests, but his brain kicks in a beat too late, and their attendant is already gone.  
  
"I won't tell," Cook promises, as he sinks back against the seat, tugging his hand gently out of David's to finger the odd, furry purple material of the arm rest. "Besides, you have to practice for the wedding."  
  
David doesn't even know Cook that well, and even he can figure out that this is Cook's way of apologizing.  
  
And anyway it's sort of true, David supposes, grudgingly. And later, it turns out that sharing half a bottle of champagne is actually a really good idea. It makes David forget about the fact that his parents - who are waiting to _pick him up_ from the airport - don't know he's bringing anyone (cook) (a _man_ ) with him. He's feeling totally comfortable by the time they land, a warm, happy buzz in his stomach from the alcohol and laughter and the way Cook's finger brushes his skin every time he reaches for more wine.  
  
  
  
All that warmth evaporates once they make it to the arrival hall, though, and David sees his mom and dad there, waving and beaming and thrilled to have him home.  
  
" _Davey_ ," his mom breathes, muffled against his shoulder, once he's close enough. For a second he hugs her back, tightly, and - oh my gosh, he's missed her _so_ much. He laughs when his dad claps him on the shoulder, looking him up and down like it's been six years since they last saw each other.  
  
"We're taking you out to dinner," his dad says, still grinning. "It's good to have you home, Dave."   
  
And it is so, _so_ good to be home, it really is, at least until Cook sort of... coughs, quietly, and steps up next to him, and David remembers.   
  
His mom looks at him curiously, and then at Cook, with an uncertain smile. "Is this--?" she asks. Beside her, his dad goes ashen-faced, his smile erased completely, and David's heart plummets.  
  
"Mom, Dad, this is David Cook," he says, anyway. His voice is totally not shaking. "He's my, um--" and he is totally not worried about saying it. "My--"  
  
"We're parked outside," his dad interrupts. "We'll talk about this later."  
  
David's palms start to sweat.  
  
  
  
The drive to the restaurant is eerily quiet. His dad's face is stony, and his mom looks like she wants to say something, but she isn't sure where to start. Once in a while, Cook says, "So where are we headed?" or "How's the bride-to-be?", and David looks up at him gratefully, _hoping_ \--  
  
But all his dad says is, "A new place," or "good," all flat and monotonous, and his mom just kind of bobs her head in agreement. After a couple more false starts, Cook goes quiet.  
  
The restaurant isn't all that far away, but by the time they tumble out of the car, David's so tense he thinks he's going to be sick. There are butterflies in his stomach, and when Cook's hand lands on his back, careful and uncertain, he nearly jumps. "It's okay," Cook murmurs. "Come on."  
  
Then his dad storms inside without a word, and David doesn't feel okay at all.  
  
It's a nice place, new, a small sort-of diner that was built almost right after he left, Jazzy tells him later. It's got that old-school feel to it, booths lined up wall-to-wall, a black-and-white checkered floorboard, and a huge jukebox in the corner belting out showtunes from musicals David only vaguely remembers.   
  
But David barely notices any of that as Cook guides him inside, and then settles into the booth beside him. They've barely sat down before his dad is saying, stiffly, "How long has - how long have you been--?"  
  
David can't quite make himself look up as Cook turns to him thoughtfully, almost easily. "What's it been, like, two, three months now?"  
  
David sees his dad balk. " _Months_?" he repeats.  
  
"Oh," David nods, fervently. "Yes, um, something like that. Yes."  
  
His mom looks at him strangely, but then offers Cook a warm, if guarded, nod. "David's never mentioned you," she says. It's not unkind.   
  
"He's been figuring out a way to break it to you," Cook offers. David's dad gives him this _look_ , then, concerned and a little sad, and that - that's the crux of it, David knows, that they think he didn't think to tell them, that he tried to - to _hide_ it. David ducks his head and begins fiddling with the napkin in his lap.   
  
"I didn't want to push him into anything," Cook adds, his hand suddenly finding its way to David's thigh, and David has to try his best not to jump. "But when this came up, everything just kind of fell into place."   
  
"So how did you two meet?" his dad asks, except it's not - it's the tone his dad takes when he calls up to ask about frat parties and whether David's been offered any drugs, or, like, um, girls or whatever - and David looks up to see his mom frowning a little.  
  
"Don't be rude, Jeff," she says.  
  
"I'm asking a reasonable question, Lupe," his dad replies, quiet but firm.   
  
David's face heats up. "Um," he says.  
  
"No, it's fine," Cook says, aiming an amused smile at David, like they're in on some kind of secret. "We met at his birthday party."  
  
"A party?" his dad interjects. "Davey, you didn't tell us you had a party."  
  
"Oh," David says, floundering. "Oh, well, that's. Uh."  
  
"It was a small surprise thing," Cook says. "I'm friends with his roommate, and I happened to be in town for a gig. Jason told me he had a friend who was having a party, and asked if I'd perform a couple of numbers. At the time, you know, any chance to sing and get the word out seemed like a good idea, so I said yes."   
  
David watches his mom through Cook's speech. She starts out worried, but she's smiling a little by the time Cook's finished, that smile she gets when she thinks something's funny but doesn't want to give away the punch line. "At the time?" she asks.  
  
The hand on David's knee shifts up, just an inch, and squeezes gently. "Yeah," Cook says, with a laugh. It sounds almost embarrassed--or, um, it _would_ , if David didn't know better.   
  
He totally knows better.   
  
"Performing's been relegated to second place on my priority list for a couple of months now," Cook adds, shooting David another fond look, like he's about to lean over and--  
  
"Wow," David says, looking down at his napkin. His skin feels like it's on _fire_. "It's really warm in here."  
  
His mom pauses midway of tugging her coat on a little more snugly, and gives him a strange look, but Cook's already asking their waiter to turn the temperature down a notch. The hand on David's thigh squeezes again, reassuringly, and David has to struggle not to choke on his water.  
  
His dad looks at him for a second, then turns back to Cook. David cringes a little, and feels, again, the weight of Cook's fingers on his skin. "Do your parents know?" his dad asks, eventually, and, oh my gosh, David feels like the worst person in the _world_ at how small his dad's voice gets.  
  
 _Don't say yes,_ David thinks at Cook. _Don't say yes, please don't say yes._ Maybe, like, osmosis or something--  
  
"They suspect," Cook says, and David almost lets out a relieved little breath. "They know about my sexuality, and they know I'm seeing someone, but." Cook turns to him, then, smile warm and reassuring. "David wanted to tell you first. I know how much you guys mean to him, and I didn't want to assume..."   
  
Cook trails off, then, a little uncertainly, mouth quirked in a hesitant smile. "Family comes first," he says, quietly. "I get that."  
  
Distantly, David hears his dad calling for a waiter, and his mom flipping the menu open. Cook's still studying him, so seriously, and David has to look away first. He still feels flushed.   
  
  
  
Things seem to get better after that, though, easier, and by the end of the night, his dad actually _laughs_ at one of Cook's awful jokes, and his mom reaches for his hand under the table, and squeezes it gently.  
  
When Cook goes to get them all a cab, though, both his mom and dad pull him aside. They look at him seriously and say, "David, we know it must be lonely being up in college by yourself--"  
  
"No," David interrupts, quickly. "No, you guys don't have to worry. I'm fine."  
  
"Well, yes," his mom says hesitantly. "Oh, honey. You know we just want what's best for you."  
  
"I know, mom," David says, and oh my gosh, he must have read them wrongly. They must have seen right through him, and figured out that he's blown a thousand dollars just to get Cook to come so he could pretend to have a - a _someone_ just so he wouldn't have to meet all the young girls Aunt Em knows--  
  
"And Cook is... right now, is Cook what's best for you?"  
  
"Oh," David says. Then his shoulders sag in utter relief. "Oh, that. Yes. Yes, um. Cook's awesome."  
  
"Well," his mom says. "If you're sure." Her smile turns a little more affectionate, then. "He does seem like a very nice young man."  
  
"Oh," David repeats, weakly. "Yes. Cook's great."  
  
"And you're sure you're not coming home with us?" his dad adds, voice gruff. His eyebrows are knit, and David hesitates for a long second. He does want to go home (sort of), only he's totally going to slip up if Cook isn't there with him, and he doesn't think he can take, like, all this _lying_ all the time. And all the kids are going to have questions for him, and Claudia - oh, gosh. He loves her, but she's totally going to ask about the - um, (not that she'd expect him to have, like, gone all the way, but um, maybe third base? Or something?) and like the kissing and, and making out and stuff, and how is David supposed to explain that he doesn't know about any of that without telling them that Cook isn't - that Cook is really just a... kind of borrowed boyfriend?  
  
  
  
"It's simple," Cook says, later, when they get to the hotel. "You can't."   
  
"Oh my gosh," David says miserably. "I really can't. I can't do this."  
  
He's lying spread-eagle on his side of the room, twisting idly at the straw bracelet Jason had given him, like, forever ago, one night he'd been really, really high ("You and me," he said, with that smile that always made David want to smile back, "We're totally forever, man," and then he tied a knot around David's wrist and passed out).  
  
Cook looks up from his place in the armchair, where he's pulling off his shoes. "Pretend," he says, easily. "Look, don't think about it as lying, okay? Right now, I _am_ your boyfriend. We've been going out for three months. We met at your surprise birthday party. We have a good time together. We're thinking about doing this long-term."  
  
David glances over, surprised. "We are?"  
  
Cook laughs. "David, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure your parents already think I'm going to pop the question."   
  
"Oh my gosh," David chokes, as he buries his head in his hands. The room - which is pretty tiny for a twin to begin with - suddenly seems a lot smaller.   
  
His bed dips, and then Cook's on top of him, both of David's wrists caught in his hands. Cook tugs them down, away from David's face. "Archie, come on," Cook says. He laughs, then, but there's really nothing funny about the way he's looking at David. Which is good, um, because that keeps David from thinking about the fact that Cook is - that they're in kind of a compromising situation here. "You're probably one of the three college students in the state who's _actually_ studying in school. I bet there are tons of things you want to do. Now's your chance. Tell me, if you could be doing anything, anything in the world, what would you be doing right now?"   
  
"Um," David stalls. "I guess - I don't know, I--"  
  
Cook makes a buzzing sound and shakes his head. "Lame. Try again. _Anything_ , Archuleta."  
  
"Oh, well, I," David shrugs. Or shrugs as much as he can with Cook still _pinning him down_. "I guess I'm - I really liked where I grew up, so -- I'd like to show you around. And, like, introduce you to my brother and sisters."  
  
"Much better," Cook says, nodding in approval. "See, that? That would be the perfect second date."   
  
"Wait, no," David protests. "I was just - you're not interested in that. It's really lame, like, all the stuff my mom tries to--"  
  
"David," Cook says, firmly, and huffs out a laugh when David's mouth snaps shut. "That would be the perfect second date."  
  
Reluctantly, David smiles. "I guess," he says finally, as he ducks his head a little. The stubborn knot in his stomach finally starts to come loose.   
  
Cook rolls off him, then, and nudges his shoulder. "This is yours, David, okay? I'm just along for the ride. So make this your fantasy, because we're just here to have fun. No scary stuff." David nods, and Cook pauses, thoughtfully. "I mean, unless you're willing to fork out an extra couple hundred bucks."  
  
" _Cook_!" David yelps, and flings a pillow at him, blushing furiously.   
  
Cook's laughing too hard to fend off his attack.  
  
"Seriously," he says, later, in between his wheezing, as he falls into his own bed. "Jesus, David."   
  
"Shut up," David mutters, rolling his eyes a little bit. He can still _feel_ his blush, and he reaches over to hit the light switch. Then he pillows his head on one arm, and turns to face Cook. Moonlight is coming in through the window, a small, square patch on Cook's bed, and David can see Cook looking back at him from across the room. The distance between them feels a lot farther than the length of a crummy bedside table and the portrait of a fruit bowl hanging above it.   
  
David feels the tug of a smile on his mouth, and, even in the dark, he can see Cook grinning back. He presses his cheek into his palm, watching Cook watch him till he falls asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

David is totally not a morning person, so he's surprised when he wakes up just as the sun's beginning to rise. He props himself up on an elbow, blearily, and watches the sky burn red-orange on the other side of the window. Then Cook groans into his pillow, and something makes David say, "Do you, I -- maybe we should have breakfast with my family?"  
  
Cook makes another muffled sound, and David adds, "Or, if you don't - we could just--"  
  
"No, no," Cook interjects, voice still coated rough with sleep as he sits up, his eyes closed. "I'm up, I'm up. Breakfast sounds like a great idea."  
  
  
  
Oh my gosh, David thinks miserably, an hour later, breakfast is only, like, the _worst idea ever_.  
  
They're at his house, both their plates stacked high with his mom's (awesome) pancakes and bacon, and then left to cool while they're, whatever, _assaulted_ by the rest of the Archuleta clan. Sort of, anyway. Claudia and Jazzy had totally accosted Cook, like, the second they'd come into the backyard, and Daniel and Amber had dragged him to the kitchen to, "go say hi to Mama! You have to! She's been making your favorite pancakes!"  
  
So he hasn't been able to check on Cook or anything since (even though, okay, Cook is only, like, seven feet away) and all this is totally planned, duh, and David's so nervous his palms are sweating, and he spends the entire time shooting Cook these helpless, terrified looks, and each time he does, Cook is giving him a small, sideways glance, eyebrows furrowed and a half-smile on his face, and dang it, David doesn't know why he ever brought this up.  
  
"Oh my gosh, Dave," Claudia says then, right by his ear, and David jumps. " _Relax_. We were just talking!"  
  
"Um," David says warily, as Jazzy and Amber beam at him and - finally! - let him slide into his seat, Cook right beside him.  
  
His mom comes out of the kitchen with a bowl of scrambled eggs before he can start checking Cook for, like, internal injuries and stuff, and Cook smiles at her and says, "Everything looks amazing, Lupe," and everyone at the table chimes in with their thanks. His mom tuts at them, and asks if David will dish out the eggs, which is why he's caught totally off-guard when Jazzy says, smiling over her glass of milk, "So David, why Cook?"  
  
David nearly drops the bowl. "What?"  
  
"Why are you--"  
  
" _Jazzy_ ," their dad says, warningly.  
  
"What, Dad?" Jazzy protests, but David sees the way she hides her smile behind her fork. "I'm the bride. We've been talking about me for _weeks_. I'm tabling our wedding plan conversations this morning. I'd like to hear about someone else for a change." She turns her smile on Cook. "You don't mind, do you?"  
  
 _Yes, you do!_ David thinks at Cook, desperately. It worked before--  
  
"Consider it your pre-wedding gift," Cook says, grinning back at her and totally ignoring David's horrified stare.  
  
"Well," his dad says, after a moment, and David looks at him pleadingly. "It's a fair question, Davey."  
  
"Um," David stalls. "I'm - I don't, um..." He takes in the six expectant faces around the table, and steals a glance at Cook, who looks warmly amused. "He, uh, he's awesome?"  
  
Jazzy throws an ice cube at him. "Oh my gosh, David! That is so not gonna cut it!"  
  
Cook mimes an arrow through the chest when David doesn't go on. "Seriously, Arch, you're breaking my heart here."  
  
"Oh," David says, weakly. "Well, he -- Cook's really nice. And - and he, um, he's good at making people feel comfortable. And he likes music, which is good, because common interests are important so, yes."  
  
There's a second of silence, and David tries not to glare when Cook hides a smile behind his palm, because oh my gosh, that is totally unhelpful, hi, and David's never been any good at--  
  
"So you boys like the same music?" his mom asks, finally, and David freezes mid-thought.  
  
"Not exactly," Cook says, just as David is about to start panicking for real. He drops an arm casually over the back of David's chair, and his fingers brush David's shoulder for a second, which -- David actually feels kind of reassured. "I've always been more into the whole rock and roll genre, but Archie can convince me to give pretty much anything a shot."  
  
Daniel chokes on his mouthful of water at that, and Claudia grins into her pancakes (which, whatever, okay, David has good taste in music! He's in Julliard! They have no right to laugh.).  
  
"Who did you listen to growing up?" Amber asks.  
  
"Oh man, anything I could get my hands on went straight into my collection," Cook says, tilting his head thoughtfully, listing each band off his fingers. "Led Zeppelin, Kriss Kross, Blessed Union of Souls, George Straits, the Motley Crue..."  
  
He breaks into a laugh at the confusion on Amber's face. "Also, my favorite color is green, I like crossword puzzles and long walks on the beach, and I'm a Sagittarius."  
  
Amber ducks her head, then, smiling shyly, and David starts to relax in his seat again.  
  
Then his dad says, abruptly, "I never got round to asking, last night," and everyone at the table looks up from their plates. "How old are you, Cook?"  
  
It's not - it doesn't sound suspicious or anything, and David would be able to pick out the concern in his dad's voice like a too-sharp D in a melody, but he cringes all the same. Then Cook's palm is a warm, sudden anchor against his skin, even as he straightens a little in his seat. "I turned twenty-eight in December, sir."  
  
"Really?" David's mom says, smiling as she puts a hand on his dad's wrist. "When in December?"  
  
"The twentieth, ma'am."  
  
"Oh my gosh," David blurts. " _Really_? That's, like, a week before my birthday!"  
  
A second moment of silence consumes the table, and David feels his mom's startled gaze on him, and he adds, belatedly, "Um, I mean--"  
  
Cook starts laughing, then, and leans over and - and _kisses_ him, oh my _heck_ \--  
  
"Arch," Cook says, when he pulls back a second later, and David forces himself to look Cook in the eye, even though his mouth is still _burning_. "You're going to make your brother sick if you go on like this." He taps David's nose, briefly, and murmurs, "Relax, I got you," out of the corner of his mouth, before leaning back in his chair.  
  
His neck is flushed, and Daniel is making mock gagging noises into his eggs when David finally looks up, but Claudia flashes him a thumbs-up across the table, and Jazzy beams at him, and Amber is talking to Cook again, quietly, and his mom and dad are watching him with small, careful smiles, and it - it's not ideal, but--  
  
Maybe breakfast isn't _totally_ the worst idea ever.  
  
  
  
They get roped into running errands for Jazzy once they're done with breakfast, though. Which is -- David had been thinking about giving Cook the rest of the afternoon off so he could go sightseeing or whatever, since they've been working practically non-stop since their flight landed the day before and he thinks there might be, like, union rules about these things, but then his mom says, "It would really mean a lot if you could stop by the florist and check on the floral arrangements this afternoon."  
  
David's about to say he can handle it on his when Cook insists on coming with him ("Like I'm letting you do all the fun stuff without me, Arch."), and when Cook grins, David blinks and almost hunches in on himself when his lips start to tingle again.  
  
They wind up walking to Huddart Floral, which is about twenty-five minutes away, and Cook asks, "Did that go okay?" as soon as David's house disappears around the street corner.  
  
David can't quite look up at him yet. He worries at his lower lip, then stops when that kind of makes things worse. "I think so. Jazzy really likes you."  
  
"Yeah, well, you weren't too shabby yourself, Archuleta. Those were really smooth answers."  
  
David groans and presses his face into his hands.  
  
He startles when Cook's arm comes around his shoulder. "Hey," Cook says. "Stop that. I'm serious. You pulled it out, and I bet you didn't think you had it in you."  
  
David does glance up, then, and Cook's mouth crooks up in another smile. David's throat goes tight, and he - it's really--  
  
"Why are you doing this?" David hears himself say, suddenly. "I mean, I don't - it's just -- aren't the people you meet usually really weird?"  
  
He wants to kick himself as soon as the words are out, because hi, brain, mouth, filter; he knows all the parts, so why doesn't it work for him the way it does for other normal people? "Sorry," he says, quickly, "Sorry, I just--"  
  
But Cook doesn't look upset. "It's okay," he says, easily, looking at David with an eyebrow raised, lips still quirked in a hint of a smile. "You'd be surprised. I mean, yeah, sure you get the occasional weirdos, but most of my clients are pretty decent people." He leans in close, voice dropping a notch, conspiratorially, and David finds himself leaning back. "And sometimes? If I'm really lucky? I even land cute, prepubescent popstars who need a last minute--"  
  
David jerks back. "Oh my heck! Shut up!"  
  
That only makes Cook fold in on himself, _sigh_ , his face pressed into his arms, his shoulders shaking as he cackles. David's torn between walking away and laughing himself. It's weird. It's not even that funny.  
  
Then Cook straightens, solemnly, and shakes his head a little. "No, but seriously," he says. "I have seven children to feed, and my wife's been out of a job for months now, so the money's really tight. I'm pulling all the extra shifts I can."  
  
"Oh my gosh," David says, horrified. He wrings his hands a little, helplessly. "Cook, I'm so sorry, that's awful, I just - if I had any extra money, I--"  
  
Cook bursts out laughing again, slaps both hands on his knees and bends in half, practically gasping.  
  
David stares at him for a second. Then -- "Oh my _gosh_ , oh my -- _Cook_! That is totally not funny!"  
  
"God, Archuleta," Cook says, weakly, as he wipes his eyes. "You're so easy."  
  
"But I thought that was you," David shoots back, unthinkingly.  
  
Cook pauses. "Dave," he breathes, after a moment, grin stretching wide across his face. "Did you just make a funny?"  
  
David's about to protest, because it wasn't even _that_ funny, okay, and he does know how to tell jokes - kind of - for another, but then Cook's doubled over again, cracking up so hard that David has to actually thump him on the back a couple of times to keep him from suffocating, and David just sighs and feels his mouth curl a little as he waits for Cook to compose himself.  
  
"That's the spirit," Cook says, once he's stopped wheezing. "Now the only way to up that is to get me to hack up a lung before we get to check on those Calla Lilies."  
  
  
  
David doesn't recognize that for the tactic it is till much, much later, but once he does, he admits it works. They spend the rest of their walk just talking, and the more they do, the more David realizes that, for all that Cook knows about him and his life history, he doesn't actually know much about Cook, except that they share a first name.  
  
So when Cook tries to steer the conversation towards David's family, David asks Cook about his life instead - where he grew up ("I was born in Houston and raised in Tulsa, but New York's my home now."), his thwarted dreams of becoming a recording artiste ("Didn't work out the way I hoped it would, and this was supposed to pay the rent till it did. You can see how well that turned out."), his family ("I love them to death, but it's complicated."), and his pets ("Dublin really belongs to Mrs. White next door, but he pretty much camps out at my place whenever I'm around.").  
  
The more David finds out, the more he likes.  
  
  
  
When they get back to the hotel, the receptionist - Mary-Sue - tells them that they've got a voice message from his mom. It's about the family dinner that evening, the ones that would typically end with him in the lap of one of Aunt Em's acquaintances, and David winces at the thought.  
  
"What's with the face?" Cook asks.  
  
"Just - there's a family dinner thing tonight," David tells him, glumly.  
  
"Huh," Cook says, rifling through his suitcase. "What's the dress code?"  
  
"What?" David says. And then, "Oh! Oh, wait, you - we've been out all day, and you've been working since you've got here. You totally don't have to come tonight. I mean, it has to be kind of overwhelming? To be meeting the whole family like this, especially after, um, after yesterday, at the diner, and - you already saw my family this morning anyway, and tonight is going to involve _everyone_ , like, my grandparents and my aunts and _everything_ , so you really don't have to come if you're not--"  
  
Which - okay, David is totally dreading the whole thing already, he can't even imagine - if Cook isn't there, he's--  
  
"David," Cook says, on a laugh. " _Breathe_."  
  
David sucks in a mouthful of air.  
  
"Good," Cook says. "Look, I like your family. And Aunt Em's the reason you hired me in the first place, right? So you just worry about you, because I'm coming tonight, okay? "  
  
David swallows, hard. "Okay."  
  
"Okay," Cook repeats.  
  
The second hand ticks on the clock.  
  
"But what if they ask me something about you and I can't - what if it's a repeat of this morning? Or if my aunts think it's not going to work out and - and start introducing me to other _men_? Or--"  
  
"Yeah," Cook sighs. "Okay, you and pressure clearly work hand in hand. I'm going to take a shower, and when I'm done, I expect a composed wedding date."  
  
David nods, then, numbly. His brain doesn't stop when he hears that, or even when Cook disappears into the bathroom, or even when the shower starts, because that would mean he's thinking about Cook in the shower, taking a shower, and you don't - there are rules about getting into the shower with clothes on and--  
  
Um, so.  
  
David spends the next fifteen minutes quietly freaking out about dinner instead.  
  
  
  
David's mostly composed by the time they get to the restaurant for dinner. Sort of.  
  
"It's going to be fine," Cook tells him, squeezing his shoulder as they wait to be seated. "You're acting like this is the first time we're doing this."  
  
"It is!" David protests, feebly. "You've never met Aunt Em."  
  
Then David hears someone say, "Was that my favorite nephew I heard saying my name?" and he barely has a second to give Cook a terrified glance before Aunt Em is barreling into him, putting both her arms around his neck to grab him in a long, tight hug. Her perfume still makes David feel a little dizzy, but he manages a smile as she pulls back to hold him at arm's length. "It's been ages since I've seen you, Archiekins! Look at how tall you've gotten, and still so _adorable_."  
  
She pinches his cheeks - as usual - and David only barely holds in his sigh when he hears Cook almost choke on a cough beside him. "Um," he says.  
  
"Now don't you worry about a _thing_ , darling," Aunt Em coos. "We'll find you someone you like this year if it's the last thing we do!"  
  
Aunt Em is already starting to drag him across the room, and Cook's still laughing behind them. "Um," David says, desperately. "Aunt Em--"  
  
Then his mom materializes in front of them (and oh my gosh, David loves her _so much_ ) with Cook on her arm. "Em," she says, smiling. "Have you met David's boyfriend?"  
  
  
  
"Jesus," Cook says, under his breath, after they've finally made all the rounds and escaped the crowd to get a moment to themselves, "Tough crowd tonight. I can see why you needed an escort. I thought your Aunt Em was about to have an aneurysm."  
  
David swallows, hard, and manages a smile at Aunt Em, who's still watching them from across the room with a weird, hawk-like intensity. "I just wish she'd stop trying to set me up," he says, miserably. "She can totally mess with Daniel's love life. He wouldn't mind!"  
  
"Somehow, I highly doubt that's true," Cook points out. "Oh, incoming!"  
  
David doesn't even have time to duck before Aunt Em is there again, slipping her arm into his and patting his hand rigorously. "I just wanted you to know, Archiekins, I still adore you, and you're still my favorite nephew. Well, second favorite now, because you can't really be anyone's favorite unless you're going to have children. I'm really very progressive, darling, but that's how it works, you know."  
  
"Oh," David says, helplessly. "Yes." He chances another glance at Cook, who grins at him and offers a nod of approval.  
  
But then David feels totally vindicated when Aunt Em says, "Now where's that boyfriend of yours, Archiekins? I'd like to have a little chat with him," and he only feels a small twinge of guilt when he points Cook out to her and she goes to sink her claws into him instead.  
  
  
  
Cook's clearly grateful for the opportunity to slip away from Aunt Em, and she seems less inclined to talk to David once they've all been seated, which -- David guesses Cook might have something to do with that. He reaches for Cook's hand while the waiters are taking their orders, and squeezes it warmly, and Cook looks up from his conversation with David's cousin, Vanessa, to smile and return the gesture.  
  
"No one's asked any awkward questions so far," Cook murmurs, later, out of the corner of his mouth. "So by my estimate, things have been going pretty well."  
  
"How's Julliard, dear?" Aunt Stephanie asks, then. "Is Cook one of your professors?"  
  
David shoots Cook an accusatory glare.  
  
"Aaaaaaand I take it back," Cook mutters.  
  
  
  
Dinner itself is mostly uneventful. Cook's awesome with people, as usual, and everyone loves him, pretty much, and after a while, all talk turns back to wedding plans, which David reminds himself to be thankful for when he prays that night.  
  
There's a lull in the conversation as dessert is being served, though, at which point Cook gets a call and excuses himself to take it.  
  
Aunt Stephanie leans over three of David's cousins to wink at him, then. "That one's a keeper, Dave. And he's not hard on the eyes, either."  
  
"Oh my gosh," David says, before he can stop himself, and then flushes. "Um, I mean, thank you?"  
  
"He totally looks like a player," Christina says, from two seats over. "You should probably be careful, David. You know, just in case."  
  
Aunt Stephanie hides a smile in her napkin. "And how's he supposed to do that, Christina? Bug his boyfriend?"  
  
Christina rolls her eyes. "I only did that once, okay, and I totally caught Brett cheating on me--"  
  
David's distracted from the rest of the conversation when Cook re-enters the room. His expression is tight, and David frowns, almost standing to reach for him, but everything's smoothed over by the time Cook comes back to the table and David's mom offers him a second helping of cake. "I would never deprive Archie of his cake," Cook says, and aims a tender, teasing smile at David as he slides back into his seat.  
  
David's throat clams up, then, and Cook spends the next couple of minutes pounding his back so he doesn't choke to death. On _marzipan_.  
  
"That's our thing," Cook says, later, to David's abuelita. "He does this whenever we're at a party and he's ready to leave."  
  
David's pretty sure she doesn't understand a word, but he's biting back a smile anyway as he kisses her goodnight and lets Cook drag him out of the restaurant and into a cab.  
  
"That was awesome," David says, beaming, as he slumps back into the seats. "Did you - Aunt Em totally left me alone after my mom introduced you."  
  
"Because she was too busy trying to pimp me out," Cook laughs. The cab is big enough to comfortably fit them both, but Cook's maneuvered himself so they're fitted together, his arm, his thigh, warm and solid against David's side.  
  
David tips his head onto Cook's shoulder when he laughs, too. "Oh my gosh, did you - she tried to get you to talk to Ben, didn't she?"  
  
" _Twice_ ," Cook nods, and slouches a little more so David can get comfortable. "If you hadn't shown up when you did, I'm pretty sure she would've decided third time's a charm. You were pretty much my knight in shining armor back there."  
  
"Ben's not that bad," David says, but Cook's finger brushes the back of his neck just then, and his heart's not in it.  
  
"You're missing my point, Prince Charming," Cook grins, and his gaze is slow and heated when their eyes meet. "We've got to work on that."  
  
David's skin is starting to feel hot again, which he's starting to get used to, around Cook, and he smiles a little as he shrugs. They spend the rest of the drive back to the hotel in silence, Cook's arm draped around his shoulders, and David finds himself leaning into Cook more than once. And thinking about what Cook said about - about his rates, and--  
  
Oh my heck.  
  
He's just overcompensating, David tells himself later that night, as he tugs at his tie a little desperately, trying to loosen it. It's just Cook's way of apologizing for taking a call in the middle of dinner, and it's not - David shouldn't be taking any of it seriously, especially not - not like that.  
  
"Who was that?" he asks Cook abruptly, turning to watch as Cook pulls off his shoes.  
  
"Uh," Cook says, and looks up with a raised eyebrow. "Okay, I'm pretty sure I don't need to be quizzed on your parents' names anymore, but--"  
  
"No," David says, latching on to the subject. "No, I meant - on the phone? When - when you left the table?"  
  
Cook blinks. It's like watching the blinds snap shut on a bright Sunday morning, like the cab ride they shared never happened. The silence is thick and heavy in David's ears.  
  
"No one important," Cook says finally, and bends down to redo his newly untied laces. David knows he isn't imagining the strain in Cook's voice. He opens his mouth, but Cook beats him to it, standing and offering him a wry smile. "I'm gonna go take a walk, get a little fresh air."  
  
A strange, sudden urge almost has David asking, _can I get some air with you?_ , but he doesn't, just bites his tongue and smiles back and nods. It's not -- he needs to remember that they're not really boyfriends, not even really friends, he's - he barely even _knows_ Cook, and they're totally not even at that sharing stage yet.  
  
And yet -- when Cook leaves the room, he's - he must take all of the oxygen with him, because when the door swings shut with a quiet click, David finds it really difficult to breathe.  
  
  
  
David's still trying to focus on breathing when Cook comes back, an hour later. Because - it's all starting to click now, all of it, the - in the cab, and the restaurant, and here, now, it's -- Cook's just trying to make up for - David isn't even sure what for.  
  
 _We're not friends,_ he reminds himself, sharply. And, just, how _stupid_ does he have to be to actually think--  
  
"Hey," Cook says, with a small, half-smile, raising a bag as he shuts the hotel room door behind him. "There was a guy down the road selling hot dogs."  
  
David's stomach clenches, hard, his chest so tight it feels almost brittle. _This isn't real._ "I'm - I don't want that."  
  
"Uh," Cook says, "Okay. Do you want to watch a movie instead? We could see what's playing on TV."  
  
David shakes his head, his hands curled into fists in his lap. _I don't know him._ "I'm not really--"  
  
"Okay, what do you want to--"  
  
"Cook, _stop_ ," David interrupts. His voice is shaking. "You're not - you don't have to make anything up to me, okay. I _get_ it, you're upset, and I'm - that's okay. You don't have to tell me about it if -- but don't come back and _pretend_ it - when you're not--"  
  
Cook sits on his bed, slowly, and watches David with dark, inscrutable eyes. David snaps his mouth shut, but doesn't look away. Finally, Cook puts the bag down and says, quietly, "Okay."  
  
David lets out a long breath and nods, face still burning. "Okay," he echoes, and lies back when Cook turns out the light, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he watches the shadows splayed across the ceiling.  
  
"That call," Cook says, suddenly, into the darkness, and David feels himself tensing at Cook's tone. "It was just someone I used to know that's -- that I haven't heard from in a while. It caught me off-guard. It was unprofessional, and I apologize. I won't let it happen again."  
  
"Cook--"  
  
"Goodnight, David."  
  
David listens to the covers rustle as Cook rolls over onto his side. "Goodnight, Cook."


	5. Chapter 5

The worst part of the whole 'surprise breakfast to make amends for the totally awkward last night' thing is that David is so, _so_ close to being done when Cook ambles out of the bedroom, freshly showered and a towel slung casually around his neck, saying, "Hey, David, uh, I was just gonna head out for--"  
  
"Oh my gosh!" David says, startled, and then has to spend a couple of minutes fighting not to drop his bacon-loaded frying pan. He winds up dropping his spatula instead.   
  
"Uh," Cook says, as he wanders over and picks it up. "Do you want any help with that?"  
  
"No!" David says, as he carefully sets the pan back on the stove and steps in front of it to block Cook's view, because it's going to be a surprise if it _kills_ him, okay. "I mean, no. I mean, help would be awesome, but not, um, but it's bacon, I can totally handle bacon! You're not - you can't be out here yet, though? I'm almost finished." Cook just stands there, watching him, and David adds, uncertainly, "Please?"   
  
There's another beat of silence, and David watches as Cook's eyebrows do the whole confused up and down thing, and then slowly settle into something between wary and amused. "Archie," he says eventually, voice threaded with laughter, "Is that supposed to be my breakfast? Because you're burning it."  
  
"What?" David asks, distractedly (just - Cook's eyes are suddenly, startlingly bright), and then he's choking on a lungful of smoke as he turns around, and -- "Oh my _heck_!"   
  
  
  
Five minutes later, Cook's slouched over the breakfast table, face pressed into his arms, and David's finally dismissed picking out and plating the not-quite-charred pieces of bacon as a lost cause. "This is totally your fault," he says mournfully, to Cook's still shaking shoulders.   
  
"Oh god," Cook wheezes, voice muffled by his skin. "Jesus, your _face_."   
  
"See if I make you breakfast again," David says, as he slumps into the seat beside Cook. He looks at the plate a little regretfully, now piled high with toast, eggs, tomatoes, and -- half-burnt bacon, sigh, and reaches for it.   
  
Cook straightens, stabbing an insistent finger onto the plate before it slides too far across the counter. "Hey, not so fast. I'm eating that."   
  
David blinks. "Um, I don't - it's all kind of a mess, though."  
  
Cook shrugs, mouth half-curled in a smile, and tugs the plate the rest of the way in. "I'm not a fan of bacon anyway."  
  
"Oh," David says, eloquently. He watches Cook spear a tomato. "Why not?"  
  
Cook's totally focused on chewing his tomatoes. "So these are actually pretty good," he says. "Are you gonna have some?"  
  
"Oh," David repeats. "I - no, not today." He gets up when the timer on the microwave pings. "Mine was already made. I just had to heat it up."   
  
"Archie," Cook begins. "Is that from--"  
  
"Yes?" David says, as he hunts for the mustard. "I - Hotdogs are awesome?"   
  
This time, David catches Cook's eye when he looks up, and they're - Cook looks... softer, somehow, like an edge has been dulled, and David takes a quick bite of his breakfast before he says anything to ruin it. The sausage sort of tastes like rubber, and the bread is all soggy, but Cook is - he's kind of smiling into his eggs, and there's a weird jerk in David's stomach, like he's just stepped into an elevator, so he totally doesn't notice.  
  
They're going to be okay.  
  
  
  
Their schedule for the day - their entire stay, actually - is pretty much crammed full of family and wedding stuff. David hadn't even been supposed to be involved with _half_ of it at first, but then Jazzy had been all, "Whatever, you're gay now; you'll be totally awesome at this! You _have_ to help!"   
  
So now he's part of the whole cake-tasting process, and still more floral arrangements, and the bridal gown fitting, and the bachelorette party, and--  
  
"Archie," Cook laughs. "Would you quit freaking out? It's going to be fine."   
  
"I don't even know what chiffon cake is!" David protests, staring in bewilderment at the ten _billion_ cakes that Elena has set down in front of them.  
  
"That's what happens when your sister has a contact at the bakery," Cook points out, and Jazzy grins at them from across the table. "I mean, it's _cake_. How bad can it be?"  
  
And -- okay, that's true, but David's still a little indignant over the fact that none of the other guys have to be here. Even _Jeff's_ excused, which -- it's his wedding!   
  
Off Cook's expression, David just sighs and reaches dubiously for the plate closest to him. The icing looks okay, and the nuts are kind of pretty. There's a little flag that reads _Coconut-Macadamia Cake_ stuck in it with a toothpick. Jazzy's got the _Kahlua Chocolate Fudge_ , and Amber and his mom are already on their second slice of cake -- _Traditional White Wedding_ , or something.  
  
"Okay, where are we going to start the maybe pile?" Jazzy says, just as David takes a tentative bite of the Coconut-Macadamia.  
  
"Oh my _gosh_!" he splutters. It's really, really hard to swallow. Cook pounds him on the back a couple of times. "Um. Where are we starting the 'no's?"  
  
They go through about a dozen cakes after that, each weirder than the first (" _Guava Chiffon Cake_?" Cook mutters to David, under his breath, "I think I'm gonna pass on this one."), and David's just about to call for a short time-out, because his tongue is, like, almost numb from all the sugar, when Cook breathes, "Holy sh--uh, smokes."  
  
David looks up. "Cook?"  
  
Cook's practically beaming. "This is it."  
  
"What?"  
  
Cook cuts a corner of cake with his fork, and lifts it up. "This is the cake."  
  
"Um," David says, confusedly. "...Okay? I don't--"  
  
Cook huffs out a laugh, and rolls his eyes, almost affectionate. "Open up, David."  
  
Jazzy's looking at them now, curiously, and then his mom and Amber are, too, and when David hesitates some more, Cook lets out a sigh and says, "I know we have that no-PDA rule, but this barely even counts, I swear."   
  
Cook's mouth is twitching, though, and David is about to object, because -- is he seriously talking about PDA? With - with his mom and his sisters right there?  
  
But David never even gets the chance, because then Cook leans in and - and _kisses_ him again, oh--  
  
It's not like the last kiss, this time. This time, Cook is all slow, hot intent, and David's eyes flutter shut. This time, Cook's hand is coming up to rest gently against David's skin, the curve where neck meets shoulder, and David feels his pulse speed up. This time, Cook is coaxing David's lips apart, and David is breathing hot and ragged into Cook's mouth, oh my _gosh_ , and it feels _right_ , it feels--  
  
And then David nearly tips into Cook's chair, he's leaning so far over, and the heat of Cook is gone, replaced by an invasion of buttercream and white chocolate.   
  
Cook's struggling valiantly not to smile when David blinks his eyes open again. Jazzy's not even trying to hide it, and Amber's already sending off a text - probably to Daniel or something, dangit - and his mom buries her face in the wedding cake catalog as soon as David catches her watching them fondly (even though David knows she's already seen every single item in there, like, six times).   
  
David takes his time chewing.   
  
Cook smirks. "So was I right about the cake, or was I right about the cake?"  
  
David wets his lips and manages a smile. "This is the cake," he echoes, quietly.  
  
He tries not to lean in when Cook slings an arm around his shoulders and ruffles his hair, and the girls all clamor to try the _White Chocolate Fantasy_.  
  
  
  
"Jesus," Cook says, sprawling out over his bed once they get back to the hotel later that evening. "Who knew cake tasting could be such a workout?"  
  
"Mmm," David says, as he heads straight for his suitcase. He's feeling kind of... weird, still. His stomach has been in knots all day, and his face feels flushed. He'd barely managed to laugh at Cook's jokes all throughout dinner (except at the one about the orange and the gorilla, oh my heck), but at the end of the meal, his mom hadn't said anything aside from, "Make sure you get your suit ready for the rehearsal dinner next week, baby. Ironed and everything." And David's pretty sure she would've noticed if he was sick or something, so. Um. So that means it's probably--  
  
David swallows, hard, and scrubs a hand over his mouth. "Probably nothing," he says, to his luggage. He worries at his lower lip as he begins yanking his shirts out of the bag, a little harder than necessary. "Probably stupid."  
  
Cook is -- he's _experienced_ , and - and he's really, um, good-looking? And friendly, and funny, and smart, which are all things David really, really isn't, and--and even if he was all those things, maybe that isn't what Cook's looking for; maybe Cook has someone already, waiting back in New York (just because David doesn't think he could take the idea of his - whatever, his boyfriend, going away to be someone else's escort for a weekend--)   
  
...And Cook is also _working_. Oh my gosh, what is he thinking?  
  
"Um," David says, without turning around. "Cook?"  
  
He startles a little at the loud snore he gets in reply. And then he laughs into his hand. And he keeps laughing until he realizes he's reached the bottom of his baggage and his suit is nowhere to be found.  
  
  
  
Telling Cook about his suit the next morning turns out to be a _huge_ mistake.   
  
"What's the point of being a rockstar if you can't indulge when you need to?" Cook demands, and David's attempts to point out that he's, um, a far cry from anything resembling the poster boy for sex, drugs and rock and roll go completely unheeded.   
  
So Cook pretty much drags him to one of the boutiques near the hotel straight after breakfast, tosses him into a changing room and dumps, like, a ton of suits in after him. It's sort of like watching an avalanche.  
  
It's not even that bad, at first. David has an older sister, okay, he sort of knows the shopping drill. He's used to having to try on different outfits. But then it's three hours later, and David's been in and out of, like, a _hundred_ different suits, and Cook still isn't satisfied. "Oh my gosh," David says, as he struggles out of the hundred and sixteenth one. "Cook, you have to _stop_."  
  
"Yeah, right," Cook says, and David can practically hear him roll his eyes. He shrugs his shirt back on, and puts a careful hand on the doorknob, trying to ease it open. Maybe if he can just slip past the assistant--   
  
Then Cook's voice wafts in from _right outside_. "Stop trying to get out of the changing room, Archuleta. I'm barring the door until you've put on that mauve blazer."  
  
"Oh my gosh," David says, miserably. He gives the knob another half-hearted tug anyway, but isn't even surprised when it doesn't budge. "It's like you're six thousand people in one body. I think you're, whatever, the biggest investment I've ever made." There's silence for a second, and David adds, hurriedly, "wait, no, I didn't mean - was that rude?"  
  
"Yeah," Cook calls back, through the door. His voice is muffled. "Yeah, because I'm your regular delicate flower, Arch."  
  
"What's - Cook -- are you _laughing_? Oh my gosh, shut _up_. "   
  
Cook's only response is to chuck yet another suit at him over the top of the dressing room door.  
  
  
  
They still haven't found "the One" forty-five minutes later, and David starts operating on autopilot. He walks out of the changing rooms, twirls and ducks back inside without even waiting to hear Cook's commentary ("Smurf; too weird; the inseam is crooked, man; uh, _no_.") to wrestle his way into the next suit.   
  
So he's totally not expecting a reaction when he steps out, in a plain white shirt and a dark charcoal-gray blazer-pants combination, and twirls. Cook is silent for the longest moment, and David looks up to find Cook scowling at his cell phone and thumbing it off before slipping it back into his pocket.  
  
David sighs and turns around.  
  
Which is when Cook lets out a low whistle.  
  
"Um?" David says, turning back.  
  
Cook's already halfway across the room, eyeing him appreciatively. "You clean up nice."   
  
"Aw, no," David says, and ducks his head. He's always felt pretty ridiculous in suits. They make him look so _young_ , and he really, really doesn't need that. "This is - I don't--"  
  
Cook comes up to him, then, plants both hands on his shoulders, and maneuvers him so he's facing the long panel of mirrors he'd been studiously avoiding up till now. David watches Cook's reflection in confusion. "Here," Cook says, leaning in some more, and suddenly David's heartbeat is thunder in his ears. This - this is just like in the bakery, he thinks, just like Justin, and he tips his head up--  
  
\--and then Cook leans over to redo his tie, fingers deft and clever just under the hollow of his throat. "Tada. Perfect."  
  
"Uh," David says, a little uncertainly. He clears his throat, and quickly licks his lips. He can feel the heat of Cook's skin lingering, even through the fabric of his jacket.  
  
Cook aims a teasing smile at him and raises an eyebrow. "The appropriate response is 'thank you, Cook.'"   
  
David watches Cook run his hand over the tux again, feels the warmth of Cook's palm seeping into him. He swallows. "Thank you, Cook."  
  
  
  
The melody comes to him like a dream on their walk back from the boutique. It catches David off-guard, and he beams all the way back to the hotel room. He totally doesn't even care when Cook starts laughing at him, off his look.  
  
He reaches for paper as soon as he sees it, already working out the chords in his head, trying new notes where the ones he has don't quite fit. He doesn't - he hasn't written anything in _ages_ , not since they've been here, which is half a week or something already, gosh, but right now, he can't seem to stop the music in his head. ("Please don't stop the music," he croons, under his breath.)  
  
He's really psyched about this one, too; it's coming so easily that he barely has to think about it at all, and - and it's _working_ , it sounds amazing, it's going to be even better when it's finished, especially if he can get someone to come in and do the back-up vocals, maybe Jason or something, and -- David looks up when he realizes the second line of melody he's hearing isn't in his head at all. Cook's lounging on the edge of his bed, humming along, which, together with what David has, is really - wow, yeah.  
  
"Oh," David says, abruptly, taken by surprise. "I didn't know - you're really good."  
  
Cook sits up a little, shooting David a crooked smile. "So when I told you I'd been working on a music record..."  
  
"Oh," David repeats, and worries at his lower lip, face burning. "Um. You said it didn't work out, though? I thought that was because you were -- um."  
  
"The next William Hung?"  
  
"Oh my gosh, _no_!" David says, appalled, and then huffs and turns back to his music sheet when Cook tips back onto the bed, laughing. "You are totally unhelpful."  
  
"Hey, no, Arch, come on," Cook says, once he's recovered, and David sighs when a pillow bounces off the back of his head. "What's this for? A school assignment?"  
  
"No," David says. "No, I'm, um, I'm done with those. This is just, I don't know, it's for me."  
  
"Oh," Cook says, a strange note in his voice, and David looks up at him, cautiously, and says, "So - so you think that works?"  
  
It takes a second, but then Cook nods and says, "Yeah. Yeah, man, it's amazing."   
  
And Cook is looking at him sort of oddly, with an expression David can't place, like the one he'd worn at David's house when the girls had been, whatever, _quizzing_ him, probably, and he just nods at David and--  
  
The silence is - it's weird, it's, they're sort of comfortable around each other now, kind of, but this is, um, this feels like a different kind of silence, maybe? And David blurts out, "You never told me -- what did Claudia and Jazzy say to you the other day? At, um, at the breakfast?"   
  
Cook frowns a little, then, and lies back down on the bed. He's quiet for a long while.  
  
"Cook?" David says, tentatively.  
  
"Sorry," Cook says, sitting up again with a smile and scrubbing a quick hand over his face. "Sorry, just giving myself a little pep talk."  
  
"Um?" David says. "What for?"  
  
"Reminding myself not to be stupid," Cook says, and laughs a little. "Never mind." There must be something in David's expression that -- or something, because Cook barrels on. "So your sisters, right? They basically told me that the Archuletas are a package deal, and said that they'd--" Cook scratches a line across his neck with a finger, "Except, you know, in a different locality, if I ever hurt their brother."   
  
Cook glances up, then, face framed in the fading sunlight, and his voice gentles. "They said their brother's been through more than enough, what with the vocal paralyses and having to give up on treatment because there wasn't enough in the piggybank to go around for everyone on top of that, and then having to be away from home so much. They made it exceedingly clear he deserves better than some scummy boyfriend who's going to break his heart."  
  
David looks down at his hands.  
  
The covers rustle, and Cook's voice is impossibly close when he says, "You never told me--"  
  
"I'm getting better," David says, fiercely. His eyes are _totally_ dry when he looks up. Totally.  
  
Cook stands there for a long moment, just watching him, and David thinks he sees -- but then Cook nods, gently, and reaches briefly for his hand. "Okay."  
  
  
  
It's quiet for a little while after that. David's lost the music again, but he's not worried this time, not really, and Cook's just sitting beside him, one shoulder pressed warm and firm against his own, and eventually David's eyes stop stinging, and he clears his throat and says, "You should--"  
  
Cook turns to him, and David tries not to drop his gaze.  
  
"You should tell me something," he continues. "About you. I mean, um, that I don't know yet. Because you totally know all this stuff about me now, and you're meeting my family, and - and you're going to see my sister walk down the aisle, oh my gosh, and--"  
  
"Arch," Cook says, grinning. "Okay. What do you want to know?"  
  
David worries at his lower lip. "Tell me about the guy."  
  
"Which one?" Cook says, but even David can tell he's not really trying.  
  
"The one that made you burn your suits."  
  
Cook huffs, this quiet sound. It's - it doesn't sound like a laugh. "Should've seen that one coming," he mutters.   
  
"If you don't want to," David says, hesitantly. He's - he could be doing this all wrong. They're still not friends, or anything even remotely like it, and--  
  
"He was a client," Cook says. David's eyes snap towards him, but Cook's looking out the window, watching the sun go down. The dusk lights shadows on his face, deepening the ones in the curve of his mouth, and he looks so, so tired. "That's how it started. He said it was a one-time thing when I got there, just a couple of hours shmaltzing with his business associates. It should've been easy, I guess. Textbook case." Cook stops, as abruptly as he began, then laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "But I got stupid."  
  
"Cook," David says.  
  
"Come on," Cook interrupts. The sun's almost completely set now, and when Cook turns to face him, his eyes are hooded. "All talk and no play's gotta make David a hungry boy."   
  
"Um," David says. "Are you going to try to talk me into that strip club again?"  
  
Cook tips his head back against his seat, then, half choking on his laughter, and the moment's gone.  
  
  
  
David remembers it, though, later. He spends the remainder of that night restless, dreaming of weddings, and Cook's smile, and dark, blurry faces he doesn't know. When David wakes up the next morning, panting and sweaty, he decides that anonymity is a really awesome thing.  
  
Then they meet the groom's side of the family for lunch, and it's all downhill from there.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

David's always been awkward around new people – especially when it's _crowds_ of new people. He just never knows what to say, and his life really isn't all that interesting, so it's not like he has funny anecdotes to share or anything.  
  
Cook's the total opposite, though, which is _awesome_ , oh my gosh. He can talk to _anyone_ and make them like him (which, okay, David already knows that from firsthand experience, but it's different when he gets to watch Cook in action, like, his effect on other people or whatever). Cook's so good at it, in fact, that he even kind of rubs off on David a little bit, till David actually starts enjoying himself enough to start a conversation about organic vegetables with Tricia, whom he hasn't seen in forever (and who's his, um, third cousin twice removed or something? David doesn't even remember anymore).   
  
"I mean it's totally the healthier option," Tricia says, and Cook nods, gravely. "But, like, when you add up all that extra cost it's kind of--oh. my. _gosh_! Jazz!"  
  
And before David has time to press her for the rest of that statement, Jazzy materializes in front of them, Jeff on her arm, and a couple David's never seen before right beside them. Jazzy sort of flails a little, and then Tricia makes another excited, um, squeeing noise, and drags Jazzy off to a corner to, like, talk about the sequins on her wedding dress or something.   
  
"Oh my gosh," David says, under his breath, once they're safely out of earshot. "I haven't even met some of these people! Just, how do you keep all of this stuff straight?"  
  
"Practice," Cook says, on a laugh. "Lots and lots of--"  
  
"Dave?"  
  
There's Cook's hand, warm on the small of his back, and David doesn't realize how heavily he's leaning into Cook until he feels Cook stiffen, suddenly, feels Cook's open palm clench into a tight, tight fist behind him.   
  
"Cook?" David says, uncertainly. Cook's eyes are too dark to read when he turns, and then David's distracted by Jeff saying, "Hey guys. This is Michael, a buddy of mine. And this is his wife, Stacey. Mike, this is Jazzy's brother, David."  
  
"Hi," David says, and reaches for Michael's hand. Beside him, Cook goes even tenser. "Um," David says. "This - he's David, too. David Cook. My, um – my--"  
  
"Escort," Cook interrupts. His voice is strangely hard. "For the evening."  
  
David practically feels his stomach knot, and his throat is so scratchy with panic he can't even speak.   
  
Michael gets this really weird look on his face for a second, but it disappears as he reaches for Cook's hand, and he says, easily, "Good to meet you, mate."  
  
David's pretty sure he should be relieved right about now, but Cook barely smiles back, barely even makes to extend his own hand, and David's stomach clenches up even harder.  
  
Then Stacey says, too brightly, "So how did you two meet?" and David blinks and, on auto-pilot, turns to Cook--  
  
"I'll go get you something to drink," Cook says.  
  
"...Okay?" David says uncertainly, completely thrown. "Thank you?"  
  
"I'll join you," Michael offers.  
  
"I'm fine, thanks," Cook says, shortly, and turns away.  
  
David's pretty sure he's not imagining the _other_ weird look Michael gives Cook this time.  
  
"Yeah," Jeff says, then, and David tries, guiltily, to return his focus back to their conversation. "Jazzy said something about a surprise party?"  
  
David tries to make (awkward) small talk for another second, though he's pretty sure the only reason he gets away with it is the fact that Jeff plays mediator the entire time, and also the fact that he really, _really_ loves Jazzy, and _also_ the fact that he's known David for, like, a _decade_ or something by now. But when it's actually been fifteen minutes (versus, um, just feeling like it's been forever), and Cook still hasn't come back with the drinks, David excuses himself to go looking for him.   
  
It's not hard to figure out where Cook is, really. Once David exhausts the restaurant, and the men's room, there's really only one place Cook could be.  
  
Cook's hunched into himself, his back tense and his head lowered, when David pushes the curtains to the balcony back. He doesn't look up, not even when David inches closer.   
  
"Fuck," Cook's hissing, under his breath. He slams his palms against the balcony railing, and David winces. " _Fuck_ , motherfucking son of a _bitch_." He scrubs a hand over his face. "Jesus, Dave, get a fucking grip."   
  
Hesitantly, David steps fully out onto the verandah. "Cook?"   
  
Cook spins around, caught off-guard, and then ducks his head back down again. David sees the brief disappointment there anyway. "Archie," Cook says. His voice dips, unsteadily, and he clears his throat. "Sorry, man. I'm - I'll be inside in a sec, okay? Just - give me a minute."   
  
It shouldn't have taken this long, probably, but it _finally_ hits David, then. All of a sudden he realizes -- this is the guy. The guy who - all of Cook's jokes ( _stories_ ) about burning his suits, and – and being _stupid_.  
  
This is the guy.  
  
But--"He has a wife!" David wants to say. He fumbles it, though, and somehow what he ends up hearing from himself is, "Do you want to get some air? We could, um – there's a park nearby? If you want."  
  
Cook does lift his head, then. David has a second to register the surprise written all over his face before it melts into something almost like relief. "Yeah," Cook says, eventually. "I could use some air." His voice is rougher than David's ever heard it, and there's an unexpected curl of heat low in David's stomach. Cook hesitates another moment, then forces a smile as he adds, "I, uh, I could just -- if they'd miss you, I can handle the air on my own."  
  
David doesn't take the bait (and, um, yeah, he can totally tell when Cook's trying to bait him now okay). "They won't miss me," he says.  
  
It's not really a lie.   
  
Probably.  
  
And Cook's half-nod of acknowledgment, the grateful curve of his mouth... a maybe lie is totally worth that.  
  
  
  
It's late in the afternoon by the time they slip out of the restaurant, and the sun's already starting to set. it's warm and balmy out, and there's a gentle breeze teasing the ticklish curl of hair at the base of David's neck.   
  
Cook's hands are jammed in his pockets as he walks, and he doesn't offer any funny anecdotes, or bad jokes, or stupid stories (which, David realizes, suddenly, he's totally been doing from the beginning), so they're both quiet for a while. There are a million things David could say, and about a million more questions he could ask, but he struggles for words anyway, for anything to break the silence, oh my gosh, the longer they go without talking, the longer he has to think about – about Michael, and Cook, and what could've happened between them, and whether Stacey knows, or – or maybe _approves_ , and then his mind circles around the idea of Michael _and_ Cook, together--and there's a sharp jerk in his chest, something that feels dangerously like--  
  
On the heels of desperation, David starts to hum.  
  
Cook looks over at him, eyebrow canted curiously, but then his mouth curves into another smile David can't read, and he joins in.   
  
David feels himself relax, involuntarily, and it takes a little longer, a little more coaxing, but then Cook totally starts to relax too. They take turns free-styling with little rifts and, when the song ends, with picking the next one. They keep egging each other on, just making stuff up and trying to thread their harmonies together, and David hasn't heard of a bunch of the songs Cook chooses, but it doesn't even matter, he's having so much _fun_ \- it's never like this, not even in school, where it's always about scales and sheet music and stuff, which is great, too, honestly, it's just... not like this - and he just goes with it.  
  
All too soon, they get to the park, and David holds onto the last note for a long beat before reluctantly letting it go. "Not bad, Archuleta," Cook says, as they slow to a stroll. David can't help the snick of pride he feels at the admiration in Cook's voice. "That Bieber kid better watch out for you."  
  
"Oh my gosh!" David protests, swatting ineffectually at Cook's arm. "Why are you even--he's, like, _twelve_."  
  
"Because you're so much older," Cook says, and laughs when David rolls his eyes.  
  
"We've totally been over this," David points out. "I'm, like, a year away from turning legal."  
  
"I gotta tell you, man," Cook says, grinning. "That doesn't help your case much."  
  
David sighs, but when he looks up, Cook's still smiling, almost like the afternoon never happened, and--   
  
"So you're--" David begins, cautiously. "Are you--"  
  
"Yeah," Cook says, a long, long second after David trails off, and David is kind of glad Cook doesn't need him to finish the question. The smile he offers David is small but real. "Thanks, man. I needed this." He pauses, almost awkwardly, and then says, "Look, about tonight, it - I was really unprofessional in there, and I--"  
  
David shakes his head. "It's okay, Cook."  
  
"No," Cook insists. "It's not. Listen, I'm a lot better at my job than it seems right now, and I just want you to know--"  
  
He hesitates again, then opens his mouth like he might say more (and David finds himself leaning forward, closer, hoping--)  
  
And then there's a sudden burst of heat beside them, and a loud, whooping, "Fuck yeah!"  
  
David startles when Cook does, and they both turn to where a huge bonfire is suddenly crackling merrily beside them, a couple of feet away. There are a bunch of teenagers crowded around it, slapping each other on the back and laughing, like some kind of weird tribal dance or whatever.  
  
"Oh," David says, belatedly realizing that maybe fire and Cook aren't the best combination right now. He tugs Cook aside. "Um, I – if you -- could you maybe wait till after the wedding to burn this suit?"  
  
Cook's startled into a laugh at that, and David feels something warm settle deep in his gut. It's been happening a lot lately. "You're something else, Archuleta," Cook says, fondly. "You know that?"  
  
  
  
They head back to the party a little while after that, because David's pretty sure they're going to send a search party out if they notice his absence, but once they get there, Cook seems fine again, or close enough to it anyway. He does give Michael a wide berth the rest of the evening, though, and David sticks close to him while he does it.   
  
David catches Michael shooting them these looks every so often, like they're a puzzle he's trying to solve, and each time David looks away before he can say or do something rude.  
  
It's – he's not like this at all, not usually; he's never been the confrontational type. But when he thinks about the way Cook's mouth goes tight around Michael, the way his eyes harden, it just – it makes him feel--  
  
"Archie," Cook murmurs, low in his ear, and David feels his pulse hitch when Cook strokes a thumb over the back of his hand. Which is when he realizes his hand, the one tucked into Cook's – and when did that happen? – is clenched, tight.   
  
"Oh my gosh!" David blurts, as he loosens his hold. "Sorry! I – just, I wasn't paying attention--"  
  
"Yeah, because that killer grip really did a number on me," Cook says, and nudges David's shoulder with his own. "You okay?"  
  
David manages a smile, and lets out a long, low breath. "Yeah," he says, finally, and studiously doesn't look over at Michael again. "Yes. I'm fine. I, um – do you wanna leave? I mean, it's been a long day, and we're going to see everyone here again tomorrow anyway."  
  
If Cook's surprised by the request, he doesn't show it. "Let's hit the road."  
  
  
  
It's like the entire lunch is forgotten the second they leave the restaurant. Cook's talking a mile a minute, and David's just settled to feeling like they've regained equilibrium when they reach their hotel. Cook starts fiddling with his phone as they get into the elevator, and he's grinning, one arm slung casually around David's shoulders as they go in, but when they come out he's slipped his phone into his pocket, and he isn't smiling anymore.   
  
David nudges him a little, and gets nothing but a half-smile in response.   
  
Cook gets this pinched look the closer they get to their room, and says, "Hey, you know, I think I'm gonna take off for a while," as David fumbles with the card key.   
  
David looks up. He doesn't need to guess to know what this is about. Before he can catch himself, he says, "Can I come with?"   
  
There's a flash of something on Cook's face, something that looks like - like maybe...   
  
"It's okay," Cook says, and shakes his head. "It's, uh, you're probably wiped, man, and tomorrow's gonna be a real--"  
  
"No," David shakes his head. "No, Cook, I want to."  
  
"David," Cook says.  
  
"I'm not - I just think maybe you shouldn't be alone right now."  
  
Cook opens his mouth – to argue or crack a joke or-- _something_ , David isn't sure what, but he sees Cook bite it back, and David scrambles to put the room key back in his pocket and follow Cook back towards the elevator before Cook can change his mind.  
  
  
  
Even before they get outside, David knows this isn't the same as before. Cook's not – he's all _melancholic_ , and David can tell right away that this is going to take, like, serious heavy-lifting on his part or whatever to cheer Cook up again.  
  
"I, um," he ventures, after they've been walking in silence for a couple of minutes. "I know this bar?"  
  
Cook turns to him, then, his weary expression dissolved into disbelief, at least momentarily. "I'm listening."  
  
  
  
The thing is, 'bar' maybe isn't the best word to describe the place.  
  
Just – it sort of is one, but Mormon, so there's no alcohol or whatever, and David goes there mostly because they bring in these, like, awesome live bands and stuff, only that night is apparently Karaoke Night.  
  
"Well that's unfortunate," David says, as they settle into a booth. ("We might as well," Cook says, eyebrow raised as he follows David inside. "But just so you know, this is a total cop-out.")  
  
"That's a whole lot of unfortunate," Cook agrees, wincing at the current act's latest sour note. "You are so going to have to make this up to me."  
  
"Um," David says, midway of picking up the menu. "What?"  
  
"Oh, don't even, Archuleta," Cook says. "You're totally going up there."  
  
"Um?" David repeats. " _What_?"  
  
"You heard me," Cook says, smugly, and apparently he's, like, in cahoots with the managers or something because that's when they ask for the next volunteer, and Cook yells out his name and sort of, um, shoves him out of his seat.  
  
So David totally has to go up then, because there are people, like, whistling at him or whatever, and also, the spotlight is kind of there, _on him_ , and he makes a half-panicked gesture at Cook before letting Rick herd him up onstage. "So – hi there," he says, and waves a hand awkwardly as Cook whoops and hollers his name. "My name's David, and I'm trying to cheer my friend up tonight, and apparently this is what he wants me to do, so, like, if I suck you guys can laugh or whatever and -- or you guys can laugh either way, I guess, um. But anyway, I'm going to sing a little Edwin McCain tonight, if that's okay. So – [here goes](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNxE8wlnuM8)."  
  
David loves _I'll Be_ \- has loved it from the first time Claudia played it for him on the computer they shared and told him, dreamily, that it was the song she was going to set her first dance to - and he's sung it a billion times, maybe more, but tonight feels different.  
  
Cook's watching him with this strange, serious, _rapt_ expression, one David doesn't think he's ever seen before, like David's the only one in the room, and--it feels different.  
  
David blushes through the entire song.  
  
"David--" Cook says, later, once David's high-fived his way through the crowd and back to their booth (and oh my gosh, there were way more people here than he'd realized).  
  
"Um, so it's totally your turn to get up there now," David says, before Cook can say anything else that'll probably, like, make him blush his head off again.  
  
"What?" Cook demands, but then one of the guitarists – Maya – is at their table, already tugging on Cook's arm to get him to his feet, and Cook throws his straw at David before giving in with a laugh. David just grins at him, unrepentantly, but then Cook actually gets onstage, and somehow persuades Maya to let him try her guitar on for size, and then Cook's _singing_ , about honeyed lips and burning desire, oh my _heck_ , and David sinks lower into his seat, his skin practically on fire, and wishes he'd thought about his plan a little more before its execution.  
  
  
  
"That was amazing," Cook says, bumping David's shoulder with his own as they walk down the street back towards their hotel. "I didn't think people gave standing ovations in bars."  
  
"Ha!" David says, triumphantly. "You totally admitted it was a bar."  
  
"Because that was the point I was trying to make," Cook shoots back, but he's still grinning, and David finds himself grinning back. "Seriously man, that was awesome. Thanks for showing me around town."  
  
"It was one place," David says. "That doesn't really qualify as around town."  
  
"Okay, you really need to learn to take a compliment," Cook says, and David colors on cue, which just makes Cook laugh, _sigh_ , like David hadn't seen that one coming.  
  
He ignores it in favor of rummaging around his pockets for the room key, and he's surprised (but glad) when Cook doesn't push the issue. That is, he's glad until he looks up again, when he realizes Cook's holding his cell phone, wearing that same, pinched look from earlier in the day.  
  
David puts an uncertain hand on Cook's wrist, briefly, and Cook looks up with a tight smile that's almost painful to look at, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but he puts his phone back in his pocket without replying, and follows David into the room.  
  
Just like that, David feels the mood shift again. They've been out all night trying to pretend this isn't actually happening, like it's some chapter in a book they can just gloss over, but David knows firsthand that that isn't how life works. Denial only ever gets you so far.  
  
"Do you want the day off tomorrow?" he asks, eventually, as Cook flops down onto his bed.   
  
"What?"  
  
"I mean – it wouldn't be a big deal if you missed it," David offers. "It's just the tasting menu. Jazzy won't mind."  
  
Cook's sitting up now, watching him, and for the first time since they've been in Utah, it looks like Cook wants to say _yes_. "But Aunt Em--"   
  
"I think she likes you," David says, with a small smile. "I don't think she'll try to make me sit on anyone else's lap just because you're not around for, like, two hours."  
  
Again, Cook hesitates.  
  
"I'll be okay, you know," David adds, with more confidence than he feels. "They're _my_ family."  
  
Cook tilts his head, then, studying David for a minute, and oh my _gosh_ , David wishes he knew what Cook was thinking.  
  
"Michael was one of my clients," Cook says, finally.  
  
David's heart stops.  
  
Cook drops his gaze, fingers clenched around the thin fabric of his bedsheets. His mouth is twisted, humorlessly. "He's a businessman, and there was... a particular crowd he was trying to impress for a project. He hired me, said it would be an easy, one-time deal." Cook pauses for a second, then shakes his head. "Then it was twice, three times, and he started asking for... other services, and suddenly he was a regular.  
  
"He bought me suits, took me out and showed me off, and then we'd come back and he'd fuck me in his hotel room." Cook's voice drops a notch, low and dirty. "I probably should've asked to see his place after the first year."  
  
David sucks in a shuddering breath, and hears Cook do the same.  
  
"But I got stupid," Cook adds, after a beat, with a hollow laugh. "I believed everything he told me. _Every fucking word_. And then I found out the bastard was married." Cook swallows, hard. "He told me he wouldn't be needing my services anymore, and that I could keep the suits. Like it was the _suits_ I--"  
  
Cook stops abruptly, and shakes his head.  
  
"Cook--" David says.  
  
"No," Cook interrupts. "I shouldn't - I'm not the one who -- I'll go with you tomorrow. I just - I wanted you to know. That's all. And I don't want you to think--"  
  
"Okay," David says gently, as he slides over to sit beside Cook. He's not sure which one of them needs the contact more. "We'll both go."  
  
  
  
And -- okay, David knows Cook can look out for himself. But after everything – after the previous night – he starts doing it too. It's surprisingly easy to spot the telltale signs that Michael's getting to Cook once he's watching out for them.   
  
The clenched jaw, a sudden change in direction, a furrowed brow. All things David can see even from across the room (not that he likes being extracted from Cook's side too often) and he sees it again as he's talking to one of his relatives, sees Cook's face change, and excuses himself right away so he can distract Cook.  
  
Michael's with his wife, watching Cook from over her shoulder. And the look on Cook's face...  
  
Cook's never let him flounder, or look stupid, or anything like that, and he's dealt really well with David's entire family, even Aunt Em, and he doesn't deserve to - to look like _that_ , not after everything he's done.  
  
In some burst of affectionate bravado David murmurs, "um, Cook," and when Cook looks down, eyes hooded and jaw clenched, David leans up into him and presses their mouths together so fast he nearly unbalances them both.   
  
Cook makes a low, surprised sound, but then steadies himself with a hand to David's back, and goes with it.  
  
The kiss is slow, and warm, and deep, and David fists his hands in the lapel of Cook's jacket when he feels one of Cook's hands come up to cup the back of his neck. He feels loose and shaky all at once, and he has to _make_ himself remember to pull back, to open his eyes and _breathe_ and ask--  
  
"Is he still watching?"  
  
"What?" Cook blinks, and seems to take a second to find his balance. "David, was that--"  
  
"I just," David says, helplessly. "You've been watching him watch us all night."   
  
Cook stares at him for a moment, then smiles. It's half-hearted but real. "Thanks," he says, roughly.  
  
"Um," David replies, fingers twitching with the effort it's taking to _not_ touch his mouth right now. "You're welcome."   
  
Cook looks at him for another small eternity, like he's figuring something out, before he lifts a hand and says, "you've got a little something -- just let me," and then he's skimming the pad of his thumb over David's jaw, and leaning in to kiss him again. And David isn't, like - this kissing thing isn't a foreign concept to him, exactly, but--Cook _really_ knows what he's doing.   
  
There's this hot, twisty _thing_ in David's stomach, and - oh my gosh, it totally wasn't this warm a minute ago.  
  
He blinks when Cook pulls away a heartbeat of a second later, fingers clenched tight around the fabric of Cook's blazer. "Could we maybe, um," he says.  
  
"Yeah," Cook says, breathlessly, and leads them outside.  
  
"I'm--" David says.  
  
"Shut up," Cook says, and pushes him back against the wall, both hands planted on either side of his head, and David lets out a long breath and murmurs, "Okay," and leans in so Cook can kiss him again.


	7. Chapter 7

Later, when they're back at the hotel, Cook lying asleep in his own bed across the room, David lets himself think about it.   
  
About Cook's palms sliding down his neck, settling heavy on his shoulders, in his shirt, to press him back against the wall, to hold him steady with his warmth and his weight and the heat of his mouth, and--  
  
Even in the dark, David can feel himself start to flush.  
  
He just - he doesn't know why Cook would--  
  
Or, okay, he totally does know, because _he started it_ after all, oh my _heck_ , but that wasn't even - that was just a - a spur of the moment thing, it barely even counted, and the _look_ Cook had given him after, all, like, _come hither_ or whatever, none of that was part of the plan.  
  
Not that, um, not that _any_ of it had been part of the plan. Or that there'd been any plan to begin with.   
  
Especially not the part where - where Cook had seemed to actually _mean_ it, the way he'd laughed at the end, rough and throaty, when he'd said, "Look at us," and swiped his thumb over David's mouth; or the way he'd sort of whispered, "Jesus," and ghosted a kiss over David's jaw, run his fingers through David's hair; or the way he'd watched David the rest of the evening, a slow, intense burn that hadn't let up till--  
  
David swallows hard and shakes his head. He won't think about it like that - he _can't_ \- not when it means he'll get all... _whatever_.   
  
It just - if it felt real, and if he thought Cook looked, um, just for a second, like he thought David was--  
  
No. _No_.  
  
It was probably just a thank you. For helping Cook to - for helping with Michael, or something like that.   
  
Cook snores.  
  
David shuts his eyes and rolls onto his side so he doesn't keep watching the way the covers rustle when Cook breathes.  
  
  
  
Cook's already tugging his shoes on when David wakes up the next morning. "Finally," Cook says, but he's smiling, and there's no bite to it. The room smells so strongly of coffee that David turns his face back into his pillow for a second. "Morning, sleepyhead."  
  
"Um," David says, into the fabric. "Why are you already up?"  
  
"What?" Cook says, "I can't just want to watch the sunrise?"  
  
David huffs a laugh at that, and he barely has time to note that Cook's mock-outraged, "Hey!" sounds a lot less distant before he feels the bed dip, and then Cook's fingers are curled warm against the back of his neck.  
  
David jerks in surprise, almost falling out of bed in the process. He winds up half under Cook, who stays hovering above him, one eyebrow raised and his mouth twitching. "Oh my gosh," David says, before Cook starts. "Shut up, you totally ambushed me!"  
  
"Uh huh," Cook says, but he's already grinning as he nudges David the rest of the way off the bed. "Seriously, Arch, up and at 'em. Your mom just called with an emergency. There's been a hiccup with the gown, and Jazz is at the bridal store alone and probably freaked, so we've got half an hour to haul ass."  
  
"Um, what," David says, warily, as he picks himself up off the ground.  
  
"Yeah," Cook says, sympathetically - only, that would be working a lot better if he didn't sound so _amused_. "Apparently you're the family's new fashion guru."  
  
"Um," David repeats. "What."  
  
Cook just grins, and David turns to look longingly at the carpet as he's herded into the bathroom.  
  
  
  
They make it to the bridal fitting ten minutes later than requested, and Cook is appropriately apologetic, but David privately doesn't think it makes much of a difference anyway, because seriously, David is always going to be awful with clothes; he could be, like, into _aliens_ and that wouldn't change anything.   
  
"Oh my _gosh_ , Dave!" Jazzy huffs, when he just kind of wrings his hands at her helplessly and shakes his head when she twirls for the fifth time. "You're supposed to be helping! This is not helping! This isn't even trying!"  
  
"I am totally trying!" David protests, because he _is_! It's just - all the dresses are white with little lacy patterns on the hem and stuff, with sequins _all over_ , and how is he even supposed to tell them apart? "You just look really good in all of them?"  
  
Jazzy drops her face in her hands.  
  
"Maybe I should call Jeff," David offers hesitantly. "Or Claudia? Or Mom?"  
  
"Jeff's out with his dad doing, I don't know, family tradition stuff or something, Claudia's fixing the guest list since _everyone_ with a plus one magically forgot to _tell_ us there was going to be one, and Mom's trying to settle the catering because they called this morning to say they didn't see the 1 before the 50 on our number of guests, and now they aren't sure they'll be able to make the delivery, and we planned the _band_ around their set-up for the food so now we might have to do that over too, and this dress is totally going to clash with the lighting in the room _anyway_ , and--"  
  
And then David finds himself with a face full of chiffon veil and an arm full of hyperventilating bride-to-be.  
  
"Why is all of this happening _now_?" she wails.  
  
David rubs a hand over her back on autopilot as he listens to her breathe, the shaky stutter in each inhale, and it's like being twelve again, like holding his baby sister after she sprained her ankle trying to walk too fast, always one step ahead of her time.   
  
There's a coil of regret in his stomach at the thought, like maybe if hadn't left, if he'd stayed, if he'd been around, he could've--   
  
"Hey," Cook says, and David looks up to see him standing in the doorway, head cocked. "I leave for five minutes to get you breakfast and you've already made her cry?"  
  
"Oh my gosh," David sighs, without heat. "Shut up."  
  
Jazzy laughs a little at that, but it comes out watery and she doesn't move away, just presses her face into the crook of David's neck and sniffles into his shirt. "I'm okay," she says.   
  
"Uh huh," Cook says.  
  
"I am," Jazzy insists, without looking up. "I just - I want to sit here a while, if - um -- if that's okay?"  
  
"Yeah," David says, and - and feels this little surge of pride, just getting to be here for Jazzy like this, as he nods against her cheek and curls his fingers gently in her hair. "As long as you want."   
  
Cook stays right where he is, but David can see his smile above the top of Jazzy's head, and the fond affection in it goes straight to his blood, makes him feel warm all over. "I'll come back later," Cook mouths, when he catches David's eye, and it's only Jazzy curling up even tighter against him that makes David let Cook go.  
  
  
  
They spend a really long time on the couch, just sitting there tangled up in each other, David breathing quiet and even till he can tell Jazzy's keeping the same rhythm. David's never been one for physical affection, but he can't even be surprised by how much he doesn't mind it now, not after all his time as Jason's roommate. ("The world would be way more awesome if we bartered hugs instead of money, man," Jason likes to say, right before he jumps on David to refine his $1000-equivalent hug.)   
  
Eventually, Jazzy shifts a little and David chances asking, "Feel better?"  
  
She hesitates for a second, but then nods, and David doesn't protest when she sort of wipes her eyes on his shirt sleeve. "Thanks, Dave," she says, and presses a kiss to David's shoulder, right above the newly-damp spot. "I'm glad you're home."  
  
"Aww," David hears Cook say, and they turn to see Cook standing in the doorway again, smiling, a paper bag in one hand and a shop assistant in the other. "Does this mean we're ready to try this again? Because I brought you chocolate, Pamela, and three brand spanking new outfits."  
  
Jazzy laughs and untangles herself, lurching towards them with her arms outstretched. Pamela catches her with practiced ease, and David kind of has to marvel at her, because she doesn't look fazed by the scene _at all_.  
  
Cook holds out the paper bag. "There's M&Ms, Hershey's, and a little bit of everything else they had at the store in here. Perks of a second fitting, right?"  
  
Jazzy takes the bag with a grateful, "Oh my gosh, _thank_ you," and tucks it under her arm as Pamela starts ushering her towards the fitting room.   
  
"I love him already," she tells David, over her shoulder. "Keep him!"  
  
Just like that, David feels his happy-bubble burst into tiny, tiny suds of mortification. " _Jazzy_!"  
  
"Love you!"  
  
Cook is nowhere near as scandalized, sigh, and he flops onto the couch beside David with a laugh of his own. "Guess you're stuck with me," he murmurs, grinning when David swats at him ineffectually. But his voice loses most of its playful edge when he adds, "Is she gonna be okay?"  
  
David catches himself on the cusp of a smile. "She's fine."  
  
He startles a little when Cook puts his hand on the back of his neck, then leans in so close their foreheads are touching. "Are you?" Cook asks, voice warm and low.  
  
"Um," David says, and shivers without meaning to. "Yes? Except breakfast would be kind of nice."  
  
"I still have the bagels from--"  
  
"Oh my gosh!" Jazzy says - and, okay, the walls must be paper thin, which is probably not the safest idea, since this is a _fitting room_ \- and there's muffled scuffling from inside her cubicle before she pokes her head around the door. "Oh my gosh, Davey, I'm sorry! It's almost noon, you must be starving! Never mind the bagels, I'll take them, you should get some real food. Sit down, go on a date, sightsee!"  
  
"Um," David says, as Cook chimes in with, "But the dress crisis--"  
  
"Is totally something Pamela's equipped to handle," Jazzy interrupts, and she's smiling now, eyes crinkled at the edges, which is how David knows she's serious. "And this is an _awesome_ start, Cook, seriously, so go. Let my brother take you somewhere nice. I bet you haven't even seen the garden yet!"  
  
"The garden?" Cook says.  
  
"David!" Jazzy says, accusingly. "I knew it!"  
  
"Oh my gosh, there hasn't been any time!" David protests. To Cook, he adds, "It's just, um, it's this huge garden in the University of Utah. I mean, I don't know if--"  
  
"I'm always up for some sightseeing," Cook says, with a smile. "And you did say you were gonna show me where you grew up."  
  
"Oh," David says, belatedly, blindsided by how he isn't blindsided at all, like it's the normal thing to assume that someone like Cook - that _anyone_ who isn't David - would want to spend a day hanging out in a garden, um, watching flowers or whatever. "Okay."  
  
"And you should hurry," Jazzy adds, cheerfully. "Because my bachelorette party starts at eight, and you're both invited."   
  
"You heard the bride," Cooks says, as he drapes a warm, heavy arm around David's shoulders. "Chop chop!"   
  
  
  
They decide to have a picnic in the garden, and they stop at a nearby convenience store to pick up sandwiches and fruit. "Seriously?" Cook demands, as he grabs a couple of packets of potato chips and tosses them into their basket. "This is your idea of picnic food?"  
  
"Well," David says matter-of-factly, as Cook pauses thoughtfully by the row of beer at the back of the shop. "Unless you want to be arrested right before the bachelorette party--"  
  
"Party pooper," Cook says, but he's smiling as he rolls his eyes and herds David towards the check-out line.   
  
Cook is so, so warm against David's side, and David has to work really hard not to think about how he'd been just as warm last night, nosing at David's pulse point, fists bunched in the fabric of David's shirt, and--  
  
Um. So, yeah. David's still working on not thinking about that.  
  
And then they see Michael in line ahead of them.  
  
Cook tenses, fingers curling tight over David's hip, and David's suddenly mashed right up against him, breathing in the musk of soap and cologne and chocolate. "Of all the fucking stores," Cook mutters, and David's about to guide him towards the express line when Michael turns and spots them.  
  
"David," he says, surprised. "Hey, mate."  
  
"Hey," Cook says flatly.  
  
David looks between them both, then winds a cautious arm around Cook's waist. Cook glances down at him, clearly startled, and David manages a smile as he strokes his fingers gently over Cook's side.  
  
"Ah," Michael says, suddenly. "Hey, David."  
  
"Um, hi," David says, but Cook's still looking at him, and he can only barely make himself glance away.   
  
"I don't want to be rude," Michael says after another second of silence, low and smoky. "But can I talk to you for a second, Dave? In private?"   
  
Cook does look up at that, and David feels his pulse skip a beat in response. "We're kind of on a tight timeline," is all Cook says, though, and David would totally believe the easy looseness in his voice if he wasn't still practically plastered to Cook's side, Cook leaning hard into his hand.   
  
Michael looks like he might protest, and David adds, "We really should go. We've got a lot to do and we can't be late for Jazzy's party tonight."  
  
For a second Michael hesitates, looking between the both of them again, but eventually he just nods. "Some other time, then."  
  
"Look," Cook snaps. "I already told you--"   
  
"We're really busy this week," David says, firmly, already leading Cook away. "Have a good day, Michael."   
  
David doesn't let go of Cook the entire time they're in the store, and Cook doesn't try to make him. They don't have to turn around to know Michael's still watching them, his gaze like a sharp, heavy spotlight that David can't wait to shake off.  
  
  
  
David's all but sagging with relief once they leave, and the tension leaks out of Cook's shoulders the further away they get. David even manages to goad him into laughing, twice, by the time reach Red Butte. It's a really nice day out, the chill wind nipping at David's skin, but Cook's half-slouched against him as they walk through the garden gates, one hand curled low on David's back, and David feels warm all over despite the cold.   
  
It's still early enough that there aren't a whole lot of people around, and that just makes everything look--better, somehow, this mosaic of color and movement and life. David catches himself humming under his breath, face tilted towards the sun, just taking it all in. "When I was younger, we used to come here for a picnic every week," he says, eventually. "Just - it's all so beautiful."  
  
"Yeah," Cook agrees, voice hushed with something like awe. When David turns to him, grinning, Cook isn't looking at the garden at all.   
  
"Oh," David says, ducking his head. It's - he should be used to this by now, he thinks, the way Cook can render him helplessly stupid just looking at him. It's the same expression he'd been wearing last night, out in the alley, when he'd - when they'd--  
  
"I'll, um," he hears himself say, stumbling over the words, "I can show you where -- it's my favorite place."  
  
"Sure, yeah," Cook says, still watching him and clearly amused. "Lead the way."  
  
David all but scrambles away.  
  
  
  
It's not a long walk, really, but it gets quieter as they go deeper into the gardens, till they find the hiking trail David remembers from years and years ago. The trees grow so thick and dense you can barely see the sky, and they converge on each other, leaning in like they're sharing secrets. Like they'll share them with you, if you stop and listen hard enough.  
  
David's always loved this trail.  
  
Cook lets out a low, appreciative whistle as he sets their bags on the ground. David follows suit, stretching his legs out as Cook hands him a sandwich and collapses beside him.   
  
David starts on his breakfast gratefully, barely noticing when Cook shifts even closer to rest his head on David's thigh. He barely notices anything but the trees, really, and the sound of the birdsong in the distance, and in between one bite and the next, he starts humming.  
  
"Hey," Cook says, gently, after a moment, thumb splayed warm on David's knee. "What is that?"  
  
"Oh," David says, blinking. "I - it's nothing, just this song I've been working on for Jazzy. For the reception?"   
  
"Are you singing?"  
  
David shrugs a little sheepishly. "Just a couple of songs, I think?"  
  
"Huh," Cook says. Then he gets to his feet, brushes himself off, and extends his hand.  
  
"Cook," David says, uncertainly.  
  
"Come on, Arch," Cook says. "Am I really supposed to give my first dance to someone else while you're onstage?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"At the reception," Cook says, patiently. "I'm going to need a dance partner, and since you're my date..."  
  
"Um, you can find another date?"  
  
"Not while I'm on your dime," Cook says cheerfully.   
  
"Cook," David tries again, still staring at Cook's outstretched hand like it's some kind of WMD (because it probably is). "I don't dance."  
  
"Well then we'd better start practicing," Cook says, and takes his hands.  
  
"Cook!" David protests, even as Cook tugs him up. He winds up stumbling to his feet, right into Cook. "Cook, no, I can't--oh my heck!"  
  
"Trust me, Archuleta," Cook says, breath ghosting hot over the shell of David's ear, and that's enough to give David pause, to make him realize just how close they are, pressed together like this, thigh to hip to chest. "It's really not that difficult."   
  
Except he's totally wrong, and with the added distraction of, um, being practically nose-to-nose with Cook, hi, David manages to crush Cook's toes at least three times in as many minutes.   
  
"Okay," Cook says finally, through a(nother) wince. "Let's try this a little differently."   
  
And then he's spinning David around so they're back to chest, hooking his chin over David's shoulder as he wraps himself around David's back, fingers clasped over David's heart.  
  
"Um," David says, faintly.  
  
"Yeah," Cook says, but when he laughs it sounds as unsteady as David feels. "This'll work."  
  
"Cook," David says, but he doesn't really know where he's going with that sentence.  
  
It doesn't matter, anyway, because that's when Cook tilts his head so David's cheek is pressed against his temple, murmuring, "Now where were we?" And then he's launching into David's song again, a low hum that David feels echo inside him, right down to his toes.  
  
"Is she the one," David sings, "Is it today? Will I turn a corner, see my future in a beautiful face?"  
  
He fumbles for Cook's hands as he relaxes into him, and this time, when they move, they move together, David's body swaying into Cook's, and it feels like he's known how to do this all along.  
  
He doesn't even realize Cook that hasn't let go of his hand until they're sitting back down again, and he's smiling even as his heart pounds gunfire-rapid in his chest, and Cook finally does.  
  
  
  
They spend the rest of the afternoon in the park, lying side-by-side, talking and singing and soaking in the sunlight. It's everything David loves about coming back home and _being_ here, and for a while David doesn't remember why leaving ever seemed like a good idea.  
  
He remembers later, though, when he comes into Claudia's living room, and the six girls lounging on the sofa are suddenly all sitting up, completely silent, adjusting their shirts and looking anywhere but him and Cook. Which--it's fine, David thinks. It's fine, because that's not what tonight is about; tonight is about Jazzy, and the wedding, and movies and board games and--  
  
"I'm actually not feeling so good," one of the girls says, abruptly, and Jazzy barely has time to say, "Trish--" before she's gone.  
  
Cook stiffens beside him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Jazz," another one says, shouldering her bag and still not looking at David. "I have to go, too. But you have fun tonight, okay? And tell Jeff he is a super, super lucky guy. I'll call you later!"  
  
Claudia's glaring at her as she eases past the both of them, and David shouldn't be surprised, but he is. He'd forgotten what it gets like at home, sometimes, after being away so long, and there is clearly no one who's happy about them being here together tonight. David hunches in on himself a little, doesn't even look up when Cook squeezes his shoulder, warm and tight.  
  
The silence stretches, and then stretches some more.   
  
"Okay, then!" Claudia says, and claps her hands. "Who's ready for food?"  
  
  
  
David follows Jazzy into the kitchen when she goes to help with the finger food, and he can hear Karen begging off as well, even he tugs Jazzy aside. They've lost at least half their table already. "Jazz," he says, quietly. "Maybe Cook and I should go. We're ruining your party."  
  
"What do you mean, you're ruining it?"  
  
"Um," David says. "Everyone's leaving."  
  
Jazzy flashes him a smile as she turns back towards the dining room. "I guess you'll just have to stay extra late playing all these board games I've got lined up."  
  
"What? No, Jazzy, we can just--"  
  
Jazzy's still smiling when she looks at him again, but it's all hard and razor-sharp now, and her eyes are narrowed. "Dave," she says, evenly. "You're not going anywhere. And if anyone has a problem with you or Cook, then I really don't want them here either."  
  
"Oh," David says, after a second, and he watches as Jazzy's face floods with affection.  
  
"Yeah, oh," she laughs, and nudges him in the side. "Now hurry up and finish dinner so I can play Wedding Pictionary!"  
  
  
  
Which should make the rest of the evening go fine - great, even - but conversation around the dinner table remains stilted, at best, even with Claudia trying to play mediator. It doesn't help that Jeanette, the girl sitting next to him, kind of wrings her hands under the table once they've said grace.   
  
David flinches on instinct, and then flinches some more when Cook catches him at it. Cook leans over, then, and David puts a calming hand on Cook's back without even thinking about it. "I wouldn't worry about that," Cook says, steel in his voice. "It's not catching."  
  
Cook's mouth is a thin, tight line as Jeanette makes a flustered choking kind of noise, and David wants to disappear under the table cloth.  
  
"Of course you'd say that," Pauline mutters from across the table.  
  
"Pauline," Jazzy says, warningly.  
  
"What? It's true, isn't it? The last time I saw David, he was fine, and _now_ , all of a sudden, this man shows up and says David's involved in a life of _sin_ \--"   
  
"I don't think this is appropriate dinner conversation, Paul," Claudia says, and David remembers that tone, the one she always used right before their worst fights.  
  
"David," Pauline says, and David flinches away as she reaches for him. "We just want you to do the right thing. This man here? He's making you crazy, and he's gonna burn some day. We don't want to see that happen to you."  
  
David's fists are clenched in his lap, and he can't look at Cook. "You don't know anything about us," he says, so quietly they won't hear the way his voice is shaking. "And you can think whatever you want, but don't drag Cook into this."  
  
"David," Pauline persists. "There's still time to turn back. The Lord will forgive you."  
  
"All right, Paul, that's enough of that," Claudia snaps.  
  
"I love your family, Jazzy, you know that, but this is _wrong_ and I won't stand for it!" Pauline says, primly. "I can't eat with sinners."  
  
Cook's chair screeches against the floorboards when he stands, and David looks up at him, caught between panic and alarm like the rest of their table. It takes a second, but eventually Cook draws a deep, unsteady breath, squares his jaw, and snarls, "Excuse me."  
  
Then he's storming away from the table, and David's just sitting there, reeling, watching him go.  
  
"Um," Jeanette says, a second later, in a small, small voice. "Peas, anyone?"  
  
Then David's shoving his chair back, too, jerking out of his seat. "I'm sorry," he says over his shoulder, as he follows after Cook. "I - you should go ahead and start without us."  
  
  
  
Cook's already almost at the end of the hallway when David finally catches up to him. "Cook," he says, but Cook refuses to slow, and David has to double his pace just to get to him. "Cook, wait. Please. _Cook_."  
  
Cook's taking short, shallow breaths when David corners him, shoulders strung tight, and he won't turn around.  
  
David raises an uncertain hand, drops it, raises it again. "I'm sorry," he settles for, at last. "I'm so sorry, Cook, I didn't know--"   
  
"Dammit," Cook says, then, a raw, winded rasp, and when he whirls around his eyes are bright and wild. "God _dammit_ , David, how can you just sit there and let them _talk_ like that? Let them tell you that you aren't - that you're going to be _punished_ \--"  
  
"Cook--"   
  
"No," Cook says, fiercely, "Just - I don't know much, David, and I don't know if I believe there's a higher power up there, but you? You're the most fucking amazing person I've ever met. You're strong, and smart, and fucking ridiculous, and I don't want you to -- don't let those people tell you different. Any of them. If there really is a higher power up there, it's gonna know. It's definitely gonna know. So don't let them take that from you. Don't--"  
  
" _Cook_ ," David says again, and then he's flying at him, breathless and giddy all at once. Cook's mouth opens under his own, wet and warm and willing, and David closes his eyes when they start to sting.  
  
He's secure enough in his faith that it won't be shaken, not by anyone, but he's never - it's never meant so much to him that someone's tried to keep him steady.  
  
"David," Cook says, and the wonder David hears in it makes his blood sing in his veins, makes his skin _burn_.   
  
He isn't conscious of making the decision to say, "Cook, I want--" but he hears himself saying it anyway, mouth still mashed against Cook's, fingers curled tight in the collar of his shirt. "I--"  
  
And then Cook's hands are sliding up under his shirt, hot on bare skin, and when Cook goes to work on the fly of his jeans, David doesn't protest, just leans up into him and fumbles for the doorknob when Cook backs him into it. Suddenly they're in the guestroom, and Cook's shutting the door with his foot, and David's sprawled flat on the bed, and Cook's on top of him, sucking a bruise into his shoulder as he works David's shirt up off his head.  
  
David isn't - he's -- there've been people, not a lot but enough that he knows what he's doing, enough that he can tell when Cook tries to slow things down, enough that he doesn't _need_ him to.  
  
" _Cook_ ," David breathes, as he wraps his thighs around Cook's waist and drags him closer, leans up and kisses him, hard and messy, all teeth and tongue. He can't - he doesn't even know how long he's been waiting for this, how badly he's wanted it, wanted _Cook_ , and all those times he couldn't say it, could barely even _think_ it--  
  
Cook lets out a sound, low and aching, and it makes David's stomach flip. Cook's hands never stop moving, over his stomach, his side, his thigh, like he's drawing the map of David's body with his fingers, a blind man reading Braille.   
  
And David, um, David's sort of always been an open book, but this is one of the few times he really hasn't minded it at all.  
  
  
  
It's like emotional free-fall, David thinks, as they lie in bed together after, David curled into Cook's side, watching Cook through heavy-lidded eyes. Cook's fingers are moving slow and easy against his skin, his lips ghosting gently over David's temple, and David never wants to leave the room again.   
  
Except then Cook says, smirking, "Just imagine their faces," and David can't help it, he does.   
  
He has to press his face into Cook's shoulder so he doesn't start laughing in earnest.  
  
  
  
The house is really, really quiet when they go back out again. David's rolled the bedsheets up and left them soaking in the wash ("I see you've had practice, Archuleta," Cook had said, slyly. "What else aren't you telling me?") and he's pretty sure they cleaned up after themselves, straightened their shirts and hidden all the evidence and _everything_ , but his face is still burning as they sit back down at the table.  
  
Pauline's glaring a little, but Cook just smiles at her, all teeth, smug and steady, and drops an arm around the back of David's chair.   
  
David doesn't tell him to stop.   
  
No one says a word, not even Jazzy, even though David can sort of see the beginnings of a smile on her face every time she turns to look at him. Claudia just clears her throat, and when she passes David the salt, she high-fives him under the table.  
  
David is never going to be able to look either of them in the eye again.   
  
  
  
He tries to talk Jazzy into letting them go as they wash the dishes after dinner, but all she does is wave her spatula at him and say, "No one's going _anywhere_ until we're done playing Wedding Pictionary."  
  
David knows a lost cause when he sees one.   
  
The only up side to having to sit through three hours of that, though, is that him and Cook make an _awesome_ team, because Cook turns out to be totally amazing at drawing, and David can't even mind all that much when Jazzy invokes her bridal rights and makes him switch partners with her.  
  
  
  
It's hours later before they get back to the hotel, and even though David spends the ride home with his head on Cook's shoulder, their fingers tangled, they're too tired to do anything more than stumble into bed once they get back to their room. David falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, Cook's arm a solid weight over his side.   
  
When he wakes up again, it's sometime in the middle of the night, and Cook's wrapped around him, breathing out hot and even against the side of his neck. Five callused fingers are pressed to David's chest, like Cook's holding him together.   
  
David closes his eyes and dreams.   
  
  
  
Something changes after that. David doesn't know what it is, but it's kind of awesome all the same.   
  
He's generally, like, a cheerful spaz anyway, which - whatever, everyone knows that - but this is different somehow. Everywhere he goes, people keep talking about his mood, and his smile, and he has maybe never heard the phrase "you two are adorable!" so often in his _life_.   
  
David flushes every time any of that comes up, regardless, and when Cook laughs knowingly, when Cook flashes him that private, sideways grin, when Cook runs a teasing finger over the curve of his hip, David feels himself shiver, and his face grows even warmer.  
  
And it goes on and on until eventually they have to sneak into the bathroom, or into a coat closet, or _outside_ , oh my _heck_ , and David will reach for Cook and yank him down and kiss him till they're both breathless and hard, and Cook will slide his arms around David and lift, till they fit, till they're so close it's like they were never apart at all, till it's _perfect, oh_ , being tangled up in Cook like this, his mouth and his skin, and David wouldn't be able to feel his legs even if he _was_ still standing.  
  
Every time.  
  
And oh my _gosh_ , David wishes he was more annoyed by that than he actually is.  
  
  
  
David wishes he was more annoyed by a lot of other things too, really, like the fact that their room is in chaos right now, all the time, because their papers are always scattered across the desk, and their beds are never made, and the bathroom floor is constantly wet from - um, from--   
  
And it's just - David isn't usually _like_ this; he's really good with self-restraint and stuff, but Cook. Cook does maddeningly frustrating things, like - like _this_ , right now.   
  
He's just come out of the shower, dripping wet, towel slung casually over his shoulders (which, David will point out later, really doesn't help at all). And suddenly all David can think about is the first time he saw Cook fresh out of the shower, the low snick of heat in his stomach, and a fresh wave of want hits him all over again.  
  
Cook grins when he catches David looking, slinks up to the bed and leans over him, pushing him down before he covers David's mouth with his own and David thinks, hazily, that they're going to get the bed _so_ wet, and it was just made up, and Housekeeping is going to hate them--  
  
And then Cook strokes a palm over his stomach, pressing one thigh insistently between David's legs, and David stops thinking.  
  
It's totally hopeless trying to stay annoyed with Cook after that.  
  
  
  
He starts working on another new song later, after, (hunched over the coffee table because - um, well, because he's never doing work on their desk again, okay) when Cook leans over to press a kiss to his shoulder blade and murmur, "I'm gonna grab something to eat from the deli around the corner. D'you want anything?"  
  
David looks up and cranes his neck around a little, offering Cook a half-shrug. "It's okay. I'm not that hungry."  
  
Cook raises an eyebrow. "You sure?" His lips curve into an almost wicked smile, and David's pulse stumbles. "I could get you something messy," he suggests. "And then clean you up after."  
  
"Oh," David says intelligently, eyes straying to Cook's mouth. He blinks, hurriedly, then drops his gaze. He's already flushed. "Um."  
  
Cook's doing that thing where he's laughing so hard he's practically wheezing, and David's neck heats up even more. "Oh my gosh, stop," he demands, and nudges Cook's arm.   
  
"I'm gonna take that as a yes to the sandwich," Cook says, wiping his eyes. Then he's leaning over, and David tips his head up to meet him. One of Cook's hands creeps up underneath David's shirt, and his palm burns like a brand on David's skin. "Definitely yes," Cook murmurs, just before he pulls back. David can't even imagine how he looks right now, but Cook grins and ruffles his hair affectionately before leaving.  
  
For a moment after the door closes, David can't hear past the roar of blood in his ears. He looks around the room, and all of a sudden it hits him: _there's no one else there_. They didn't have to -- Cook could have just gone for his sandwich, only he obviously hadn't, duh, because he'd decided to, to _molest_ David instead, and - and David had _wanted_ him to, had wanted--  
  
"Oh," David breathes, throat closing up so fast he very nearly chokes. "Oh, no."  
  
Oh my gosh, he's _in love_ with Cook.


End file.
